


Big Bad Wolf

by babyvfan



Series: Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark and Twisted, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Little Red Riding Hood retelling, Mention of abuse, Werewolf Draco, Werewolf Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-13 21:41:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14756813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyvfan/pseuds/babyvfan
Summary: A wolf with sharp teeth. A girl in red. A classic, well-known tale with an unusual end.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SasuNarufan13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SasuNarufan13/gifts).



> Prequel to my first fem-Harry work, Little Red, done as a birthday gift for my awesome friend Melissa. Up to you guys the order of which you wanna read it.

 

 

 

" _smile with your teeth, darling._

_do not be afraid to show the world that you would eat it whole."_

-p.d

**Big Bad Wolf: Part I**

There was once a time he loathed the color red.

The color wasn't like pale, ice-blue which reminded him of his mother's eyes that only softened when they landed on him, shedding their usual frosty exterior. It wasn't like gold or silver, representation of power and security that once dripped from his fingertips. It wasn't like green, beauty and mystery wrapped into one.

Red was too loud, too obnoxious. The horrible stench of counts and lords that flooded his family's ballroom like cockroaches, excessive bourbon coloring their faces, heightening their laughter, clinging onto their clothes. The hollow warmth of women's flushed complexions as they fluttered around him like peacocks, all beauty, no taste. Latching onto his arms for another dance, another drink, another kiss if he'd be so bold. The color of hard liquor always pouring into his father's never-ending cup.

Before red was such a distasteful color. It soon became his best friend after that horrible night.

A man in black, skin frail and papery as a corpse, eyes two beams of hellfire, power that matched those of legend, came for all their heads. Laughing morphed into screaming, dancing and flirting soon turned to running and falling as waves upon waves of broken glass-the chandeliers, the walls and mirrors-all exploded in a storm of crystal shards.

In the midst of the chaos, as he ran over to protect his mother, he was changed. Hands to sharp claws, skin to white fur, his mind a scattered mess of hunting and killing.

"Consider this payment," the man purred. "Your betrayal for your son's eternal misery."

His father, his power-hungry, ambitious father sank to his knees in horror. His hand reached to him as if he could find a shred of humanity in him. And ended up having his entire arm ripped clean off.

It was the first time he spilled blood. The first time he learned to admire the color, pouring from the wound like a sea of crimson. It wasn't loud. It wasn't obnoxious. It wasn't disgusting.

It was beautiful. It was mesmerizing. It was  _glorious_.

Too blinded by the pain ripping through him, his father used the other to hold himself. Shock, fear, and the faintest trace of disgust shone in his eyes. "Dra-"

He pounced.

His father, the roaches, the peacocks-all slaughtered limb by limb, skin slashed and slit, dripping right red.

And he wanted more. More tearing, more ripping, more spilled red. An ocean of it.

The voice of reason was silenced as his appreciation for the thrill grew; the minds of man and animal converging as one.

He became the animal others of his kind immediately ran from, sensing the madness that wrapped around his body like a cloak. The creature fools with their bows and arrows closed in on when they think they have him vulnerable and cornered, only for the predators to become his prey. The beast that traveled from town to town, village to village, spreading deep, flinching fear into the hearts of the townspeople with tales of his sharp teeth and the innumerable body count he left in his wake.

Men, women, all the same to him. All fools that strayed too far from the safe path. Who chose the wrong time to venture out into the woods during the nights the full was moon and called to him like a siren song. Whose pleas, prayers, cries all fell to deaf ears until skin became pink, pink became red, and red coated the snowy ground.

The man he was before, the former heir his father shaped and molded to achieve greatness would have possibly laughed at the irony. All his life he tried to strive for power and with the curse, he achieved. Before he may have laughed. Or perhaps be appalled. It didn't matter though.

Days bleed to months, months to years, years to decades, and decades to a century. Always hunting, always running, never changing. It's been so long, it was easier to imagine that those thoughts belonged to another man than himself.

One day he was trekking through the woods for food. This winter had been particularly harsh, an ongoing storm of thick snow and ice that kept the animals at bay, making it harder for him to gather food.

Eyes sharp, ears open, he made his way through a narrow path, and then came to a halt when spotted a fury tail disappearing behind a tree. Blood thrumming through his veins, he broke into a run, racing down the path into a clearing-

And then cried out as sharp teeth bit into his ankle, the pain spreading up his calf.

He glanced over his shoulder to see his left back leg clamped between the silvery teeth of a trap craftily embedded in the snow, pale purplish liquid coated on the metal.

 _Wolf's bane_ , he realized with a start. It wasn't just enough that he was trapped. He was also being weakened.

"I think I heard something!" His heart chilled at the sound of a man, his heartbeat pounding excitedly a few feet away from him. With two more joining in, just as excited.

"It must be the wolf!"

"We're gonna be rich!"

 _Not if I can help it,_  he thought. He tried to slip past the trap, but one foot forward and his right front leg was caught in another trap. Clenching his teeth to swallow back his screams, he tried to move away, tugging and wiggling his way out, despite the pain clanking through his body like a heavy bell. But it was like the more he struggled, the more weak he became; the metal digging into his body, tearing through his skin. The poison spread, rushing through his legs, swelling up inside him.

 _No_ …He sank down to the ground, his legs stiffened to useless lead, his limbs twisting and quivering _No!_

This couldn't be the end. Not like this.

He attempted to free himself, but his body refused to cooperate. He clamped his mouth to keep in his howls rattling through his teeth.

In the distance, he heard quick, light steps-almost faint. And a steady, calm heartbeat coming closer and closer. He forced himself to lift his head up, ignoring the aching protest of his body, and opened his eyes.

Through the mist of pain clouding his senses, he made out a small figure standing in front of him. A girl from what he could make of her scent. Her petite frame wrapped in a rich shade of red, a mass of wild dark curls that mostly covered her face, the dark shade of her eyes, and the thick ax she held in her hands.

He bared his teeth at her. If he was going to die, he was taking her with hm. And he'd make sure it'd  _hurt_.

The ax was raised high and brought it down. He braced himself for the blow intended to finish him, to tear through his skin, and spilt his head. He braced himself for the cold, brutal end.

What he heard instead was a hard, swift clang.

Near but not direct. Again and again, the clang ringing like church bells.

Bewildered, he opened his eyes to realize the blows were meant for the metal claws.

Again and again the girl, her scent of roses and cinnamon overwhelmingly toxic, hacked away at the claws until it finally cracked opened, releasing his ankle.

 _What the_ -Before he could even digest the thought, she turned her attention over to the other one, throwing her back into each hit.

Swing after swing, blow after blow, the metal cracked, releasing his other foot.

His ankles were a mass of thick bruises and caked blood, the wounds burning-hot, streaks of red oozing from them. He could still feel the venom biting his insides.

"Get out of here."

He dragged his gaze away from his bruised feet over to the girl. She was a bit older than he thought before. Around eleven, though her small frame gave her the appearance of someone much younger. Golden olive skin peeked from the red cloak. What really captured his attention, though, were her eyes.

At first glance, they almost appeared dark. Now he could see there were a bright shade of green. If there was anything hard about them, it would be the heavy, stoned glare they held. So many harsh words, so many hardships, so many questions wrapped in an intense glare from such a young girl.

It was the same look he saw everytime he looked at the mirror.

" _Go!_ " she demanded.

He stole one last glance at her and sped off the same way he came. Just in time as those exited, rapidly-beating heartbeats charged in.

"You little freak!" a man hissed, the hatred and disgust clear in his voice. "What have you done with the wolf?"

"You honestly think a little girl collecting firewood is strong enough to take down a grown wolf?" The girl. She was speaking, Such heavy, flat sarcasm hidden behind a pleasant, almost-light voice. "Why, dear uncle, you're too kind."

A crack whipped through the air, followed by the heavy thump that could only belong to a collapsed body.

A memory struck him from behind. His mother cowering away from Father's hard fists, him trying to be her shield and getting knocked down by the heavy blow.

He looked over to see the girl on the ground, huddled into a ball, with the red cloak wrapped around her like a barrier. Towering over her was a greasy, heavyset man with a thick mustache and murder in his eyes as he glared down at her. Behind him were his companions, similar to his large frame and greasy appearance, watching as if it were a show.

The man took the ax and held it up high. "This will teach to watch your mouth!"

The girl curved her body tight, hands clenching onto her shoulder, preparing for the blow. He saw droplets dripping from her cheek, splashing onto the ground.

 _Drip._  Protect.

Draco's claws dug into the ground, his nails lengthening to talons.

 _Drip._ Protect.

His fangs pierced through his gums.

 _Drip._  Protect.

He could feel every muscle, every hair on his body shake with anger that built and built with each ragged breath that hissed through his clenched teeth.

He opened his mouth to let out a growl, a growl that made skin wither to corpse white, a growl that made the heart leap and bounce with fear, a growl that alerted every creature within hearing distance he was hungry for blood.

The ax fell from the man's head, narrowly missing the girl's head by a few inches. Inches too close that earned him another growl that lashed against his skin like a whip.

"Ver-Vernon…" One of his simpletons uttered, knees buckling.

"It's-it's probably nothing. Just the wind." The man's answer would have been more convincing if fear didn't rattle his voice.

He growled again, much louder, making sure his shadow was seen. That his presence was known-and the oaf's skin and his claws would be soon become greatly acquainted if harm came to the girl.

"That...it...You-you-" The man's eyes glanced down at the girl, remembering she was still there. "You better get that wood and have a fire starting, girl, when I get back. Or no meals for a week!"

With as much dignity as he could, which was less than his own pinkie, the man turned on his heel and retreated with his friends who barely spared the girl a glance.

She slowly rose from the ground, one hand pressed against her swollen cheek, fingers painted with blood, and the other hand holding onto her cloak. She looked into the woods, almost as if she could see him lingering in the shadows, standing tall and steady, her eyes calm.

He slowly stepped out into the light, staring back at her. Her heartbeat hadn't changed in the slightest, still calm and steady through freeing him, dealing with the oaf and his pack, and now, facing down with a wolf who could easily tear her apart.

She blinked once, picked the ax, and walked away, disappearing into the trees.

Later on that night, he sat by the fire, using the light to examine the wounds. The marks swelled, the pain radiating from his scarred wrist up to his forearm, aching just as badly as his ankle. He crushed healing herbs into water and used a cloth to wipe away the blood, clenching his teeth each time his raw skin was touched.

His mind drifted back to the girl dressed in red. She used the ax to free him instead of kill. She was knocked down by the oaf ox and prepared herself for another hit. She watched him with those steady, hard green eyes.

 _I'm not scared of you_ , those eyes seemed to say.

 _Little Red_ , he mused.


	2. Part 2

" _She slept with the wolves._

_For the wolves knew a lion was among them."_

_-R.M Drake_

**Big Bad Wolf Part 2:**

There was once a girl who caught the attention of a wolf.

A strange, intriguing girl who somehow stood out from the blur of countless faces he encountered over the long years. For a number of reasons.

She had the chance others would have killed for, the infamous bad wolf at her mercy. A chance to profit, which she instead used to free him. The way she looked at him after he was freed, open and wounded, keeping him rooted with that intent stare. And the feeling that aroused in him when he saw her hurt.

Anger like he never felt before, vast and seething. Anger-and the great, deep need to rip the ox's arm clean off, along with every other limb in his fat body.

_Protect, protect, protect._  The word echoed in his mind, thrummed in his body, rattled his bones.

He tried to silence the thoughts. He tried to squash them like the annoying fly they were. Yet they lived on, hovering in the back of his mind.

As he practiced his skills out in the back when he grew too antsy inside. As he skinned the latest kill and roasted it over the fire. As he sat by the fire, polishing his daggers, reading his book. In almost every activity, almost every hour, his thoughts drifted back to the girl.

_I'm not scared of you_ , those brilliant greens said, empty of awe and fear.

He couldn't remember the last time someone looked at him like that. Ever. Not even from before when he was just a man.

Questions began to pile in his head.

Who was she? Where did she come from? More importantly…was she okay?

Days later his resolve broke. He'd seek her out. Just once. Just to stop the endless questions and thoughts. Just to satisfy his curiosity. Just to be sure she was alright.

He set out into the village the next morning in his other skin: a simple man out for a stroll. The village wasn't that much different from the others he'd seen before. Small in size, small in good-breeding, and small-minded from the snippets of conversation he caught on about his wife, her husband, their shameful lifestyle. Too many in the lower-class, few in the middle-class thinking they were royals, very few upper-class basking in the wealth. Shops plastered on every square inch. Clothing shops, hat shops, book shop, bakery.

He came across girls. Tall ones, short ones. Young and old. Pretty and plain. So many girls yet none were Little Red.

He tried the next day later in the afternoon. He tried again later at night. Then next day, the next day, and the next day.

A full month went by and still nothing. He couldn't find her.

He began to accept the devastating fact that he may never find her. That what happened in the woods possibly never happened at all. Maybe she was just a dream he conjured, a figment of his imagination.

Still, it didn't ease the knot twisted in his chest after another failed night.

"Hey! Pretty boy!"

Nor did the knot ease at the drunken yelp behind him.

Holding in a groan, he looked over his shoulder.

Five men stood behind him, just leaving the noisy tavern. Middle-class from the material of their clothes, just barely given the cheap material. The leader of the group had reddish-brown hair cut horribly like a bowl stepped up, his face round and flat, his frame tall and thick.

"Those are some pretty nice shoes you got there," As his gaze lowered, the ax in his hands twirled, the moonlight catching the sharp silver edge. When the fool's eyes snapped back to him, he smiled, displaying crooked, yellowed teeth. "I want them."

At least the fool was direct. It was almost admirable.

He drew a lazy eye over the fool and his band of simpletons. He knew what they saw. A newcomer in their territory, a pretty face in nice clothes. A lord's son most likely, always observing, always pleasing, never fighting. Wealthy. Weak. Easy prey.

_Fools_. "Then I suggest you go to Italy and get your own pair," he drawled, having the great pleasure to watch scarlet spread across the imbecile's face. "Then again, perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself." A lazy glance over the group confirmed: "Together, you lot look like you can barely afford the rag used to polish them."

Anger sparked in the fool's eyes at the defiance he was receiving. Sputtering, he looked over at his group, who were just as riled up, frowns crossing their faces, hands toying with their clubs and knifes. The fool stepped forward, practically puffing out his chest.

"Shoes. Now. Or things are about to real ugly. And real  _painful_!"

A smile spread across his face. A charming smile he used to toy with simpletons that entered the Manor. A smile he gave to the hunters when the game switched and the predator became prey. A smile that stripped the fool's skin of color as he raised his hand and terror crawled into that smile, alerting them of the danger that was to come.

"What a coincidence," he said pleasantly as talons grew from his fingertips. As his eyes shone bright silver. "That happens to be my specialty."

~...~

He continued on the search for Little Red for almost another month, creeping into the village at dawn and coming back again at dusk. He searched high and low. Through every shop, every house. Still nothing.

Finally he gave up, pushing the mysterious red-cloaked girl and her haunting green eyes to the back of his mind.

Winter passed on, giving way to spring, then summer, autumn, and back to the wintry season again.

Five winters passed by. Of hunting, scrolling through the village if he was bored enough even though that former hope he had long been extinguished, killing if the thrill sung in his bones and fools crossed his path.

Mother Nature brought back another brutal winter. Chilling temperatures that seeped underneath the bones, freezing the bones and veins. Thick, massive layers of snow that went past the knee and grew everyday, practically keeping him a prisoner inside.

He almost didn't want leave the comfort of his home, the brilliant warmth but supplies were running low and there was only so much he could spread out before it was all gone.

He ventured out into the bitter cold, the harsh wind whipping against his skin, the heavy snow grasping onto his feet like quicksand.

There wasn't an animal in sight for miles. No deer, no rabbits, not even a goddamn squirrel. No doubt courtesy of the dear Mother keeping them locked inside and the simpletons taking more than their fair share. He went deeper into the woods, past the heart, down to the center. Passing more tall trees, thick bushes, twisted roots, and paths that looked the same as the ones he passed by before.

No sign of life anywhere.

Reaching the outskirts of the woods, he was cold and hungry and all too ready to turn back. Until the faint pulse of a heartbeat banged against his eardrum.

No, not one...two. Two heartbeats. And a voice.

"Put your lazy back into it, you stupid girl!" A man. "We should have been done hours ago."

"Lazy?" drawled another voice, flat and dry. A girl this time. "Says the one with only a twig in his hands."

_That voice…_

"Get to work!"

He crept closer to the source of the sound, reaching the end of the tree maze, standing by the edges of a wide, open field.

Scattered across the ground were chunks of wood-fragments of the trees that were cut down. Standing in the middle were two people.

One was a man that was practically a whale. Almost his height, his frame ridiculously heavyset. He was so wide; he blocked the whole view of the other person, giving him an unwanted viewing of his wide backside. He was dressed in layers stretched so thinly over his body that they looked like they were barely holding themselves together. His hair was mousy brown and greasy as if it never met water and soap.

"Or I'll make sure Da whips you so hard, chunks of your skin will come flying off!"

A snort fluttered out. The second person got on their feet and moved over to the left, coming into view.

Dressed from red to toe in red.

His heart thrummed.

She looked over her shoulder to toss the humanized whale a glare that could peel paint off walls, causing curls of raven-black to escape from the hood, the scent of roses and cinnamon slamming against him like a steel wall.

_That scent…_

Hatred and anger slowly peeled away from her face in layers, almost as if she sensed something hiding in the maze of trees and bushes, watching them. Her eyes slowly drifted over from the oaf to him.

Brilliant bright green.

Little Red.

He took one foot out, then the other, his smile growing. Each forward, she took back, her eyes wide and fearful, his grin wide and frightening.

Meanwhile, the oaf was entirely oblivious to what was going on. Oblivious to the fact his companion grew silent. Oblivious to the small steps she was taking. Oblivious to the fear and danger lingering in the air.

He only became aware when chunks of wood fell from her hands, crashing onto the ground. The oaf tossed her an annoyed glance, and then turned corpse-white when he looked over to the direction her shaky finger was pointing to, locking eyes with the big bad wolf.

The oaf quivered like a leaf, strangled strands of gibberish escaping from his agape mouth while streams of hot piss ran down his legs, soaking his trousers.

"Dudley…" she whispered.

He made sure to store that little piece of information for later.

Hearing that name snapped him out of his daze. He could practically see the clogs turning in that small brain. Two of them, one of him. He was caught in the middle, standing between the beast and the girl. She was scrawny while he was plump. So plump, he could last him for a week. Unless the wolf decided to spread him out, devouring him piece by piece.

The oaf glanced at the wolf. He glanced over at the girl, and came to a conclusion.

He ran.

The wolf took that as his cue to go.

The girl screamed as he leaped-not towards the boy, but to her, mouth wide, claws out. And then screamed against as she swung a heavy piece of wood against his leg, knocking him back.

His back leg roared in pain as he fell, taking most of his body weight. His joints screaming in painful protest as he rose back up.

He studied the twisted leg, the pieces of wood embedded in the broken skin, the slow stream of crimson dripping down. A direct hit. He turned back to the girl.

She tightened her hold on the wooden club, smeared with his blood. She straightened her body into a defensive stance, her eyes narrowed into cold, hard slits.

_I'm not scared of you_ , her glare said.

_And I want to devour you_ , he replied back.

He charged at her. She swung at him but this time he was ready. It turned into a dance. He charged, she swung. He leaned in for a bite, she barely dodged from the hit, leaping back. He managed to tear a piece of her cloak; she came back swinging harder, enraged. On and on, they went; two forces lunging at each other, refusing to back down.

He clamped his mouth around one side of her club and broke it off with his teeth. She swung at him and he pried the entire piece off her hands, tossing it aside.

Defenseless with no weapon, she tried to run, but before she was halfway turned, he was already upon her, knocking her flat on her back to the ground, pinning her arms and shoulders, working against her struggling until she was completely at his mercy.

Triumph roared in his body, pulsing in his veins. So sweet, so delicious, his mouth watered. Almost as sweet as her scent.

A sob rumbled underneath him, breaking through his thoughts. Another went off, causing him to lower his gaze.

Tears leaked but she didn't hide them. Sobs stirred in her chest but her sealed lips kept them locked in. Her eyes, filled with so many tears, were still hard and cold as they looked at him.

_I'm not scared of you_ , they said even with death so close.

A wolf meeting the eyes of another.

Her body tensed when he raised one paw, expecting a sharp claw to tear her into ribbons. She shuddered when a hand touched her, softly stroking her cheek, marveling at her soft skin.

Bewildered, she opened her eyes to see a man hovering over her.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Little Red."

~...~

She fell into darkness-from the cold, the shock, the pain, the loud roaring he heard from her stomach, he wasn't sure. She was limp in his arms when he pulled back and saw those bright green eyes were closed. However when he laid a hand against her forehead, the hot flush of her skin hinted a likely answer.

She was away in dreamland when he carried her on his back and traveled back to his home. She was dreaming when he changed back and carried her inside in his arms. She was still dreaming when he started a fire, when he laid her down, when he tucked her in with several blankets wrapped around her too-thin frame.

Although when he glanced over at her face as he made his way out, the look she had on hinted that the dreams weren't at all sweet.

For almost a week, she slept on, lost in her unpleasant dreams that made her groan and whimper, curve her body into a ball, her hands clenched into tight fists, the look on her face always tense and troubled.

He came to learn names as he served her water, feed her hot soup, and tried to tame the fever harvesting her body. Dudley. Mike. Petunia. Vernon. Tom. Each one laced with venom, spat out like a curse.

He also came to learn another thing. Scars. Thick ones, thin ones marked onto her arms, peeking through the neckline of her nightgown in the front and back, peeking through the hem on her legs.

Shock pierced him like a knife at the sight of those bruises. Shock that darkened to anger, massive, fuming anger. He swallowed it down like a bitter pill, fed her the last of the soup, and took his anger out on the fire wood, into every piece he hexed and chopped.

The scars, the names. The whale who left her, the ox that struck her. Pieces clicked, connections grew as did his anger.

The next morning, he came in to check in on her and found the bed empty.

And had a sharp edge pressed against his throat.

"Where's my cloak?"

His eyes lazily crept up to the sharp knife, the slender arm, the mass of golden skin, up to hard green eyes.

Back then he didn't get the chance to study her. Not the first time he met since his mind and body were dizzy from the pain and poison. Not the last time since everything happened so fast. Now…he could see how much she changed. Back then she was a child. Now, she was a woman. Older, slender, and quite attractive. Her eyes wide-set and framed with thick lashed, colored a bright shade of green, her skin olive-tanned and golden, her lips full and plump that were pulled into a tight scowl.

_I could eat that lip._

He smiled at her scowl. Then in a heartbeat, he knocked the knife away from her hand and slammed her against the door, hand clasped around her throat.

His smile darkened to a smirk in response to the glare she shot him.

"Your cloak, along with the rest of your clothes are drying off. I took the liberty of washing them for you, and dressing you in something a bit more comfortable."

It was only then she realized that she was in a nightgown that wasn't hers, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. Quite a lovely shade of pink.

"Bet you enjoyed that, didn't you?" she snapped.

"Quite immensely," he smirked.

She glowered at him.

"There are clothes for you in the dresser," he gestured. "When you're done, meet me downstairs."

As soon as he lowered his hand, she pushed him away, shot him another glare, and walked over to the dresser.

Minutes later, he turned his attention over from the fireplace to the staircase when he heard the creaking steps. She stood at the last step, arms crossed against her chest. Face washed up, hair tied into a braid, dressed in a white dress trimmed with lace. He couldn't help but admire the material or the way it showed off the curves she possessed her in that petite frame of hers.

"White is a good color on you," he commented.

She snorted underneath her breath.

"Then again, I think you look ravishing in red." He cocked his head to the side, the right corner of his mouth curved up. "Little Red."

"Don't call me that!"

"I think it will grow on you."

The look she aimed at him promised a slow, painful demise. The planning to that idea ceased when he handed over her cloak, freshly washed and dry. She may have planned to appear indifferent, but she couldn't hold back her relief at having the cloak back with her. She held it tenderly as if it were her child and buried her face in it.

He pulled the roasted rabbit he has been cooking over the fire and plucked it on a plate, already filled with rice and a chunk of bread, pushing it over to her.

She pulled away from the cloak and studied the plate, stunned by the large portions. It was almost as if she had never seen that much food before. "I-I couldn't-"

He scanned her small, thin frame, sure he was seeing bones peeking out through the mass of skin. "I insist."

She looked over at the plate again, eyeing each item, biting her lip, then over at him. It was almost as if she were waiting for him to do something. Lay out how she should eat, or take away the plate altogether. When he didn't move, she slowly sat down across from him. She broke a piece of the bread and stuffed it in her mouth. She stuffed another piece, then another, and another, quickly going from sampling to devouring. Scooping up hefty spoonfuls of rice, taking large bites of the meat as if she were beating time. Seconds to go before her plate was snatched.

Swallowing one last bite, she pushed aside her plate, wiped her hands and face, and stared straight at the fire.

"So," she said after a long, slow minute of silence passed. "Now that I'm fed, is this the part where you cook me in the fire? Or do you just plan to swallow me whole?"

He leaned back, twirling a knife around in his fingers. "Well, I have little doubt that you'd be quite tasty."

"You'd be better off with my cousin," she said. "He'd last you a week."

Ah, the whale. "He could, but even at the brink of starvation, I wouldn't defile my mouth with something so foul." He remembered the oaf taking one look at her and then running off, leaving her at his mercy.

She must have remembered it as well, a scowl slashing across her face. "Pity," was all she said.

He shrugged with one shoulder.

She kept her eyes glued to the fire, watching the flames flicker and dance. "So what do you plan to do with me?"

"I believe I told you before that I wasn't going to hurt you, did I not? The promise still holds value."

She finally tore her eyes away from the fireplace to look at him. Just like she did with the food, she was waiting for him to add more. To lay out terms of and conditions. He said nothing else.

"Why?"

He thought about it for a minute, a dozen answers turning in his head. Finally he said, "For the exact same reason you decided to free me."


	3. Part 3

" _She wears strength and darkness equally well,_

_the girl has always been half goddess, half hell."_

_Nikita Gill_

**Big Bad Wolf part 3:**

There was once a strange girl who helped a wolf. What was even stranger was the fact that the wolf helped her in return. A debt made and a debt paid off. The end to that chapter, the end for that story.

Yet he didn't want it to be over. Not yet.

Probably because the questions circling around her grew more, not less, now that she was here. His curiosity was stronger than before, aware of her presence, her heartbeat that always remained steady, only moving in a slower, more sturdy pace if he got too close to her, her ringlets of spilled ink that were always askew no matter what she did and always seemed to beg for a tug, and of course her scent. Sweet roses and cinnamon that intoxicated him faster than the finest bourbon, testing his self-control that withered more with each passing day. Everything.

And because he was aware of everything surrounding her, he also knew why he needed to stay in control. Just as much for her sake as well for his own. More important than showing his charming side. More important than being enthralled by her and wanting her to stay.

It was the fact she flinched whenever their hands touched. That her body tensed up whenever he was too close. That she watched him throughout meals with skeptical eyes as he passed her a plateful of food, wondering if it will be snatched back the second she touched it. That her face was always troubled every time she slept.

The only time her expression ever eased was when she sat by the window, watching the world with attentive eyes. Or when she was shown his library and was amazed by the size, at the amount of books stuffed into tall, towering shelves. Or when she was lost in the latest novel that captured her attention, softening her face to a tender rose. Reading sometimes even brought a lip curl if the story was enchanting. Or-and quite often-when her face hardened to an annoyed exterior as she deflected his questions with her own.

What was her name? What was his?

Who was behind her bruises? Who was behind his condition?

Where was her family? What happened to his?

It didn't take long to paint a picture of what her life had been like before. The bruises, the men who mistreated with one striking her, the other deserting, and the repeated list of names she spat out each time she tossed and turned in her sleep.

Imagining it, though, didn't help. It just made him want to kill. To slaughter. To butcher. But he needed to hear it from her first. He needed to know what happened. Where was she all those days he came to the village in hopes of seeing her.

"I searched for you." he confessed two weeks after she came into his care.

She lowered the book she was reading, a fairytale collection from his childhood he preserved, one of the few things that brought an actual smile to her face. She stared right at him, offering her full attention.

"Everyday," he said. "Everyday for almost two months, I came into your village and searched for you. I looked everywhere, but I still couldn't find you."

From the shift in her eyes, he knew she was retreating back into her mind, taking his words with her. She closed her book, put it aside, and left the room.

He watched her go, dread twisting his stomach, squeezing his chest.

Was she really that unhappy? Did she wish to go back? Did she want to leave? Those were the set of questions that constantly churned his head each time he tried to get close to her.

If she wanted to go…he-he'd let her. He was already kept bound by the will of another. No reason for another innocent to be as well.

Everyday for the entire week, he made a show leaving the door wide open each time he returned from hunting, always keeping himself busy in the kitchen, so he didn't have to see her go. The first few days he braced himself for the inevitable each time he heard the door closed, only to sag in sweet relief to find that she closed it to keep the warm heat from leaving. The fifth day, she didn't even take note of the opened door, moving upstairs. On the sixth, he found her standing by the doorframe, halfway inside and half out, looking out into the woods, her eyes miles away.

His heart shook and squeezed with every passing second she stood there. He wondered if was how she felt every time she was handed a plate, scared that the smallest move would trigger a negative reaction.

Finally, he said in the gentlest voice he could muster, "You can go. If you want to."

The closet sign he caught of her being surprised by his presence and his words was a slow blink of her eyes. She looked over at him, glanced outside, and retreated inside without another word.

But on the seventh, at early dawn, he woke to the sound of a pair of light footsteps wandering out and the front door softly closing behind them, the slow squeeze of his chest matching the drawl of the creaked door.

The empty room, the empty bed with her blankets pushed aside, the dresser door still opened as if she were in an race against herself before she lost her nerve confirmed his fears.

She was gone.

He needed a minute to compose himself. A long, full minute to move past the slow aches crushing his chest. He tried to ignore the irritation pricking his skin like a rash, churning his stomach, stinging his eyes. He pushed through it all, and focused on his breathing.

He continued on his day like it was any other. He chopped more wood for the fire. He went out to hunt. He decided to skin the meat out in the back. For better lightening he reasoned. Today he was lucky. He managed to catch two rabbits, along with a plump goose that decided to return early from the south. A bigger feast since he was eating for one.

By dinner time, the food was prepared. The rabbits and goose freshly cooked, rice, and baked bread.

And her sitting in his chair, already helping herself to the food.

His jaw nearly dropped. She reached over to tear a leg from the goose, taking a small bite.

"You should really think about adding more spices to your meat."

For a moment he stared at her, needing time to process the fact she was still here. Actually here. That she had the chance to leave, that she did in fact leave but she chose to come back. That she was here and actually made a joke. That she was actually smiling at him.

A soft, faint smile but a smile nevertheless that tightened his chest and also his stomach for an entirely different reason, flares of heat licking his insides.

"Lucky for us," She brought out a small, woven basket she laid next to her, petting it fondly. "I managed to find a few things while I was out today."

So that explained why she left. And the fact she was here proved…Against his self-control, a smile took control of his mouth, lifting up the corners of his lips.

"If you're going to insult my cooking," he said, forced to take a different seat. "then you can at least tell me your name."

She scoffed under her breath as she helped herself more to the leg. "You never give up, do you?"

"No."

She scoffed again, but he caught a faint trace of a smile curling her lip. She took her time finishing the leg, each bite slow, chewed with care. Once done, she wiped her hands and placed them on the table, entwining her fingers. "You first."

"Malfoy," he drawled. "Draco Malfoy."

He saw the surprise flickering in her eyes. Rightfully so. The name still held power, but it had been long since it was uttered out loud, much less had a living claim attached to it, with the bloodline believed to have been utterly extinguished.

She swallowed down her shock, the questions forming in her head, and took in an inhale. Then let out with exhale, "Aria."

He raised a sharp brow.

"Aria Potter."

"Aria…" He repeated the name out loud, then again in his head. Balance the taste of it on his tongue, finding it pleasant. "I like it."

Her smile grew a bit bigger.

"As much as I like Little Red."

She huffed, rolling her eyes, but the smile remained. "You know I hate that name."

"And still I use it," he said. "I think it's growing on you."

She cut him with a look but even she couldn't rid herself of that smile.

~...~

He kept the door slightly ajar when he came back from hunting, a reminder that she was free to come and go as she pleased. She'd always go, exploring the outside of the cottage, wandering into the forest with her basket, but she'd always return. Wiping the snow off her cloak and boots, rolling her eyes at the smirk he sent her everytime she came in, and then pushing him to the side and taking over the meat portion of their dinner.

During the long months, things slowly changed between them after the first night she returned. She was still stubborn, he was still clever. He sent her smirks, she sent him scoffs and eye-rolls. The banter remained, but slowly it evolved from mild and sharp to witty and light. Even, dare he say it, playful. They talked more: about the places he had seen, the books she had read, and then soon learned to communicate in other ways.

She never talked about it before, but the day he started teaching her how to fight-how to turn tricks with a dagger, how to use her small size and looks as an advantage, how to use the opponent's strength as an disadvantage-the excited gleam in her eyes said plenty. He never voiced his curiosity on the current book she was reading, but she'd always make room for by the window seat and start reading out loud. He'd make extra space for her at the bench as his fingers fiddled away on the piano keys. She'd wordlessly jerk over to the empty stool across from her as she worked on a dish or a treat, and then cut him a piece.

But certain things didn't change. He made sure to make himself scarce during the nights the moon's call was too strong and the need for bloodshed too high. She didn't reply to questions on her bruises or her life before. He turned a deaf ear to her questions on his condition. She continued to have nightmares.

She stifled her whimpers by biting down on her pillow. She curled into a tight ball, the blanket and sheets rasping off the edge of the bed. Before he'd stand by the door, wading through the storm until she was still and all was calm again until one night her nightmares produced screams.

" _No!_ "

"Aria!"

"No!" she screamed, feet kicking wildly, thrashing against the blanket. Her clenched fists swinging. "Get away from me!"

That night he crossed into the room, into the bed, and brought her into his arms, holding her tight, shaking her awake.

"No… _no_ …" The word came out in a low, agonizing plea.

"Aria, wake up for me," he begged, shaking her harder. "Please."

" _Stop_ …" She croaked, throat tight with sobs. Fat teardrops leaking from her eyes.

His heart utterly ached at the sight. "Wake up for me, Little Red. Please."

With a low gasp, she broke free from her nightmares. She gulped in the air as if she'd never have a chance to taste it again. Her eyes filled with tears, her small body shaking with sobs.

"You're safe," he murmured.

She breathed in and out, until her breathing went from wheezing to normal. Until she was sure she had control over the tears, over her shaking, before she met his eyes.

"Nothing is going to hurt you," he vowed. "Nothing." And if they tried, he'd kill them.

She looked at him, rebellious tears escaping from their cage.

"Nothing is  _ever_  going to hurt you."

Doubt chipped away from her eyes, piece by piece, until there was complete clarity. She nodded once. He placed a hand against her cheek and leaned in close to brush a kiss against her temple, against her scar.

For once she didn't flinch or pull away. She surprised them both by leaning in closer to him, sighing almost peacefully.

~...~

"I want to show you something," he said weeks later.

She blinked at the page she was reading and looked up at him, raising a brow at the hand he offered her. She scuffled forward in his window seat to look out the window, studying the night sky.

"This late?"

"Take a chance, Little Red," he insisted. "I think you'll like this one."

She scowled at the name but accepted his hand. She slipped on her boots, her cloak, and followed him out.

For the first few miles, he kept a steady hold on her hand but when the path became more narrow, he was forced to release her and lead the way. Aria followed behind him, but he could feel her skepticism growing with each step. Especially when, halfway through, he requested her to close her eyes, a wish she reluctantly obliged to after much persuasion.

"Can I open them now?" she asked.

"No," he replied, taking her hands. "Not yet."

He kept her close as they ducked underneath a slanted branch, and crossed through another path.

"Now can I open them?"

"Not yet," he said. "We're almost there."

She muttered a name underneath her breath that made him smile.

Once they reached the final steps, he guided her to the very center and let go of her hands.

"Now can I open them?"

"Alright," he said. "Now."

The dazzling blues of the oceans, the finest clothes and jewels, even the thrill of spilled red- none could compare to the great surprise and joy that glowed from her face as she opened her eyes.

They were surrounded by red. Rich, vibrant red of beautiful, fully-blossomed roses. Growing from the tall bushes, blooming from every branch of the trees. A wonderland of roses, filling every inch of the ground, silken petals pouring from the trees like rain, perfuming the air.

"Surprise," he practically sang.

She looked at him with stunned eyes, then glanced around, soaking it all in. The sight, the scent. All of it. A smile glinted in her eye and caught hold of her mouth, turning the corners of up into a grin. She darted around the field with the abandoned delight of a child, laughing as she ran, as she twirled.

He stood transfixed by the sight. Her wild hair flaring like black ribbons, the skirt of her dress and her cloak fanning out, her hands reaching for the heavens as petals rained down on her. She was a swirl of red, black, and gold. A vision. A dream.

_Beautiful._

Unable to take his eyes away, he walked over to her, bowing low, offering her hand.

"I-no," She frantically shook her head. "I don't dance." Pink colored her cheeks. "I don't know how to dance."

He met her anxiety with ease, pulling her in despite her protests. "You're already light with a knife," he said. "I'm sure you can do the same with your feet." He entwined an arm around her waist.

She was stiff in his arms, her steps awkward. He accepted it all with a smile as he led them into a simple waltz. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Slowly tension eased from her shoulders and arms, her steps less timid and more light.

Before long, they were in perfect sync, leading step, following step, twirling and dipping. A yelp and laugh bloomed from Aria's mouth as he lifted her up and twirled her around, lowering her only to dip her low before he spun her around, giggling fluttering out like butterflies.

The second she was back brought back to him after one spin, she fell into his chest as if her energy left her.

"This is wonderful," she whispered. "Like a fairytale."

The warmth of her body pressed against him, her head nuzzled on his chest, was all too nice. He laid his chin on top of her head full of soft black hair, noting how nice her body felt against him. Too perfect.

"How is this possible?" she asked. "It's not in season yet?"

"Courtesy of a talented, dreamy-eyed witch I met a few years back that loved to speak in riddles. And became a good friend." He held her close as they swayed together. "My mother loved flowers. She insisted on having an entire section of the estate completely dedicated to her gardens. Especially her roses." An image flashed in his head. Him as a child laughing as he raced through the flowers, away from his mother who was always several steps behind. "The witch I met managed to create a rose field that would forever bloom. I come here whenever I need to get away."

"It's beautiful."

He stroked her hair. "I never brought anyone here." He caught her eyes with his. "Until now."

"I-" A misstep, a moment of broken concentration, and they were landing to the ground. He used his arm to cushion her head from the fall and used the other to soften the impact.

"Apparently I overestimated the control you have over your feet," he smirked down at her. "We'll have to work on that."

Her hands flew to him as if she was trying to push him off, but when they touched his shirt, they stilled against his chest. Like they were listening to the sound of his heartbeat. His eyes slowly traveled from her hands, down her arms, over to her face.

The look there was tender, eyes glowing bright green. She removed one hand from his chest to rest it against his cheek, examining his sharp planes and pale skin. Her hand dropped to his chin, a finger brushing against his bottom lip.

"What big eyes you have," she murmured.

He placed his hand over hers, then slide it down to her cheek, brushing over her soft skin. Waiting for her to flinch, to shift away, but she stayed where she was. The arm he cushioned behind her head crept out, sliding to her waist.

Her breathing became shallow as she bit her bottom lip. Still she didn't back away. She looked at him, really looked at him as if they were truly seeing each other for the first time.

Heat flared within him at the tenderness that shone in her eyes, licking the pit of his stomach, tightening the muscles as the tenderness brought out a soft smile.

"Draco."

Want. Need. They coiled through his stomach like fire, echoing in his head and pulsing in chest. He never felt those desires so strongly before, not even the moon's call and the killing urge could compare to how much he needed her. She became temptation itself, lying so trusting and pliant underneath him, her black hair fanned out around her head like a dark halo, bright yet deep emerald green eyes as soft as he had ever seen them, lips plump and red.

He wanted to consume her. Sample, lick, and devour every inch of her. Bite that bottom lip to taste its sweetness. But he could never force her.

"May I?" he asked.

One breath. Two breath. Three-

"Yes," she whispered.

Mustering every inch of self-control he possessed, his hand slide to her chest, directly over her heart. He leaned in, and his lips followed the trail, traveling upward at a painfully slow pace. Up her chest where her head pounded hard, up to her throat where her pulse beat rapidly. Pressing a gentle kiss on her chin, traveling up to press another on her bottom lip, resisting the urge to bite. Then at last leaned in and made direct contact with her lips.

Warm as the blazing summer sun. Slow as an intimate dance. Her kiss sweet, delicious, intoxicating as the pomegranate Persephone bit into.

Utterly, entirely divine.

She eased away to catch her breath. He couldn't let her go, not yet. He caught her bottom lip, tracing its shape with his tongue before he pulled at it, shuddering from the sweet taste.

A moan broke through her throat. That moan broke the last, frail restraints of his control.

He bit down on that lip. She gasped softly, granting him access. He plunged his tongue into her sweet mouth, leaving simple earth for beautiful heaven. Beautiful, delicious heaven.

She melted underneath him, at every thrust and taste he took.

The rhythm of their dance changed. Pace soft and slow to rapid and fast. Hands desperate, lips needy, teeth hungry. The moment her tongue slipped out to slowly brush against his, he was a man undone.

He pressed his body harder against her, pressing between her legs as they opened to accommodate his hips, more against her even though they were as close as they could be. His lips claimed her neck, kissing and nipping, unleashing a stream of moans that matched hers. His hand crept beneath her cloak to caress her breast, brushing against a sensitive nipple that hardened underneath his touch.

She arched, head tossed back, eyes sealed shut, utter rapture printed on her face.

_Mine_ , his body roared.  _Mine!_  His heart exclaimed.

He released her neck and leaned towards her lips, craving another taste, to end up getting splashed with a ball of petals.

By the time red cleared from his vision, she was freed from his hold, standing over him. She smiled sweetly at the shock plastered on his face, and disappeared into the trees.

"I'm gonna get you, Little Red!"

She giggled in reply. He pulled himself off the ground and chased after her.

There was strength in those legs of her, keeping her several feet ahead of him, helping her blend in with the darkness even though he always spotted red from the corner of his eye.

"Where are you, Little Red?"

She laughed, running faster. He followed the sound down east.

"I'm gonna find yo-"

A scream erupted, bouncing off the trees, chilling his heart.

He followed the direction of the scream down the hill, ducking and running through the twisted tangles. He quickened his pace when a second scream went off.

He found her down on her knees, a nasty bruise marked onto her cheek, arm twisted behind by her back by one man smirking over her. Another kneeled in front of her, smirking at her struggles, pressing a knife against her throat.

"Pretty thing," the hyena grinned. "I don't know whether I want to carve out your pretty eyes." He brushed the blade against the side of her eye. "Or your pretty dress." He cut through the left sleeve.

His companion snickered, tightening his hold on her.

"Where are my manners? Adam, we should give the lady a choice," He smiled at her. "So, what will it be, pretty lamb?"

A spit to the face was her answer, making perfect aim.

Any trace of amusement was gone as he wiped his face and raised his hand right up, bringing it down. "You little cu-"

Before he had the chance to finish his sentence, the wolf was upon him, knocking back five feet.

"John!"

Any other time, he would have savor the fear oozing out from the fool, drink in every pour of pain that stiffened their body, but tonight his anger reached a new, explosive high.

He touched her. He _hurt_  her.

His claws ran from the face, the neck, the arms, his torso, leaving a thick of marks that seeped bright red. His claws dug into the chest the exact time his teeth tore out his throat, feeling life struggling struggling struggling strug…stilling.

By the time he looked up, he was knocked away from the body into a thick tree. Pain batted down every inch of his spinal cord. His joints protested viciously as he moved. The other hyena who had restrained her was now walking towards him, bow drawn out, arrow locked in place.

The second he moved, the arrow flew, going through one leg, piercing into the other, bringing him down to his knees. He could feel the poison coated in the metal burning his skin, consuming his limbs. His back legs were stuck and crumpled by another arrow. One for each leg, stiffening them to useless limbs.

The hunter glanced down at him, and in a flash a dagger's blade slashed from the collar of his neck to the side of his torso, embedded deeply, making sure every drip of Wolf's bane was felt. Burnt. Ached.

He tried to hold in his screams, but the pain was too much. Like a tidal hitting him from every direction. He tried to hold it in, to separate himself from it, but the satisfaction in the hyena's smile and the dark gleam in his eyes suggested some of those cries were heard.

"The big bad wolf," The words sounded like musty tar in his mouth. "The monster our parents warned us about. The beast having the whole village shaking in fear. Now entirely at my mercy."

He bared his teeth, growling.

"I'm gonna make ye pay, mutt. And I'll make sure ye begging for death by the time I'm done with ye-" The bow fell from his hand, the quiver slide from his shoulder. Wet, strangled sounds rattled like snakes, growing louder and louder as a dagger slowly drilled its way through his throat, releasing streams of red.

She drove the killing thrust, pushing it forward, twisting it around. With a swift kick to the knee, she knocked him aside.

The cackling hyena, the arrogant hunter now a helpless lamb, one hand on the dagger as if he were trying to remove it, hacking wet, bloody coughs. Finally, with a sharp breath, he went still; hallow eyes gazing out into the woods, blood pooled around his head.

She peeled her eyes away from the body over to him. Any trace of tenderness, the slightest hint of fondness that was felt earlier was erased. Her face expressionless, eyes cold as they took in everything. His mouth stained red, claws smeared with skin and blood.

It was like their first meeting all over again.

She closed the distance between them, staring down at him.

Then broke the arrows stuck in his legs, cutting them down with the dagger, then pulling out the stubborn pieces.

"You have to help me," she told him. "You have to stand."

~...~

She didn't say another word the entire way back. Not once. Nor did she look at him. She kept him steady as he leaned against her, staring straight ahead as she guided him back to the cottage.

She laid him down on the couch, and came back minutes later with supplies. Piles of wash cloths, a bowl of water, another bowl that from the color and the scent appeared to be liquor.

Kneeling beside him, she dripped the towel in the bourbon and wiped off his wounds, staring with the one that stretched from his neck to his torso. His teeth clenched at the pain roaring from the sting of alcohol but he swallowed it back down.

"I suppose a warning is too much to ask for."

"This will string," she dryly replied. She pushed aside the cloth when it became too bloody and replaced it with another, doused in even more liquor.

Silence grew between them, thick and tense. Each minute that moved passed at snail's pace. She never said a word, working on the biggest of his bruises until it was sanitized and cleaned. She wrapped several layers of bandages around the wound and continued on, needing another cloth for his arms.

"My…father was once a rich, powerful Lord. With very powerful friends. A king, at least in his own mind. Who maintained order and perfection by any means necessary," The fear in Mother's eyes when he grasped her shoulders and shook her, the stench of liquor fuming from his mouth. The hard fists that left well-hidden but brutal bruises. The cane used to straighten out their posture and composure, over and over again until a satisfying crack was heard and they forced their pained grimaces into bright smiles. The venom laced-words that listed out every failure, every poor attempt, until they stood two inches tall. "He thought himself a king. Until one day he betrayed the wrong person. A Lord who didn't take this betrayal lightly. There was a number of things he could have done, but he decided to strike my father where it'd hurt the most."

The satisfaction that shone on the devil's face as he admired his work. The terror in Father's eyes as he looked at him. The oceans of blood that were spilled that night. The horror in Mother's tearful eyes, the lone survivor, once the chaos ended and he stood in the center of it.

"' _Your betrayal for your son's eternal misery_.' Turning the great prince into a beast." A bitter smile touched his face. "Only the prince didn't see it as a curse. He saw it as a rebirth. He relished in the bloodshed, the fear, the power it all granted him. And then one day met a girl who did something others wouldn't even have dared. She set him free."

She wiped his wounded arms with bourbon. She dropped the bloody clothes by the side and doused it into the bowl, scrubbing his legs.

"She was unlike any other person he met before. She was so young when he first met her. A child one who had fire in her veins. She stared back at the wolf, completely unafraid. He couldn't get her out of his mind. He wanted to see her again. He had to see her again. So he wandered into the village and looked for her. Everyday for almost two months, searching every possible place. Yet he couldn't find her. When the beast came across the girl again years later, grown and more beautiful than he remembered, the first instinct that came to mind wasn't to kill but to protect. And once she was with him, he…he…"

She finished washing his wounds with alcohol, gathered the bloody cloths, and pushed forward the bowl of water.

His heart twisted from the silence, even more since her gaze didn't falter, didn't soften not once. She was as close as she could be to him but it felt like there were continents spaced out between them.

"Tomorrow," he choked out. "I'll take you wherever you want to go. And you won't have to worry about coming back here."

Or seeing me ever again.

Once the cloth was doused, she squeezed it and got to work, wiping away the blood. She cleaned his left arm as best as she could, then moved over to the right that required more elbow grease. By the time she reached his leg, she needed another fresh towel. She soaked it in the water, soaked it partially dry, and cleaned his wounds.

"I never knew my parents."

He was so used to the silence that it took him a minute to process the words. His eyes flew over to her. She kept hers focused on her work.

"My looks, I got from my father said to be a wild gypsy. My eyes and cloak, I got from my mother. They were killed when I was a baby, and I was left behind with this." She brushed aside her hair, revealing the thick lightening-shaped scar marred onto her right temple.

He resisted the urge to touch it.

"I was given to my mother's sister and her family that were convinced I was the devil's child. Believed my father was the devil and my mother the foolish whore that lost her heart to him. From the time I was a baby to when I was twelve, I was kept in a tiny attic with the spiders and the discarded. I played a different for each of my relatives. To my aunt Petunia, I was the poor, little orphan girl she took in out of the goodness of her heart. That was the image she portrayed to the neighbors and her friends. Behind closed doors, I was a worthless servant meant to hardly to be seen and never heard. To my uncle Vernon, I was the freak, tainted with evil. Evil he tried to drive out thoroughly, severely with his fists, his whips, his liquor bottles, anything and everything he could get his hands on. And when the beatings weren't satisfying enough, he used starvation. There were weeks a time, I was given pieces of old, hard bread if they were too lazy to throw out. Then there were the times I'd be locked in the attic for weeks and weeks and my stomach would have nothing else to eat but the air."

Each word was spoken with a flat, calm tone, as if she wasn't speaking about her own life, but someone else's.

'To my cousin Dudley, the charming whale you had the pleasure of meeting, I was several things. The scapegoat that was blamed for his mistakes and was punished for it. The punching bag for him to hit and kick until I was almost coughing up my own blood. The fool's gold he guarded outside my door while his best friend, Mike, crept into my room, pinned me down, and did what he wished for three straight years. Until he finally had his fun and cast me aside, branding me as damaged goods."

His skin nearly broke from the force of his hands that were balled into tight, tight fists. He should have killed them both when he had the chance. Cut apart their bodies and use their severed limbs to slaughter the others.

"I tried to run. I wanted to. But each time I was found and brought back by an elderly priest named Dumbledore who was always looking out for my best interest. Or so he claimed. He said they were the only family I had. That my mother would have wanted me to stay. Later on, when I was locked in my room, bloody and bruised, my stomach eating its insides, I always asked myself why not end it all."

He couldn't stop the shock that rippled through his body.

"A week before you found me and my cousin, Petunia called me into the kitchen to tell me that my well-being would soon be entrusted to Tom Riddle, a high-esteemed lord in our village famous for his vast wealth, infamous for his vast temper. And the fact every single one of his pretty lovers mysteriously disappeared shortly after they came into his care. From the way Petunia looked at me, the words she used and didn't say, I knew what I was going to be for Tom. Not a wife, not a mistress, but a toy to be used and discarded as soon as he was done with me."

With the last of his wounds cleaned, she wrapped them up in bandages and dropped the dirty cloth along with the others. She used what was last of the water to wipe the blood off her hands.

"You once asked me why am I still here? The answer is quite simple." She looked up at him, emerald greens glowing as brightly as the fire. Her delicate, beautiful face a mask to the steel hidden underneath. "You may be a monster, Draco, but I knew of much worse ones."

The long-awaited answer to the questions that had churned and circled around his head for months. Why she was still here when she could have easily ran. Why she freed him when she could have killed him. Why each time she looked at him, her eyes always carried the same message.

_I'm not scared of you._

It was because all of her life she had been surrounded by monsters. Used by them, abused by them. The worst kinds of beasts in human clothing.

Looking at her, realization sparked. Why he was so intrigued by her. Why he took her. Why he not only wanted her, but needed her, adored her, and wanted her by his side forever.

She was a survivor, just like him. A survivor that crawled her out of the monsters' den. Who stared down at the wolf and bared her teeth without an ounce of fear.

He kissed her lightening scar, every inch, every jagged angle, then made his way down. Burning a trail of kisses from the right side of her head, the corner of her mouth, the column of her neck, the sharp angles of her shoulder blade, the length of her arm, and down to her hand.

He brought it up to his mouth, kissing each knuckle, each finger. He kissed the back of her hand and the inside, cupping it in his.

"I'll kill them," he whispered against her skin. "Every single one of them."

She took in a slow, soft breath and moved closer to him. Her hand played with the sleek strands of his white-blond hair, then glided down to his cheek. She leaned in, replacing her hand with her lips.

"Not if I kill them first."

Stunned, he pulled away to look up at her, watching a smile shape her mouth.

Touched by wickedness, sharp as a blade, it was the type of smile that belonged to a wolf.


	4. Part 4

" _Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?"_

-R.L LaFevers

**Big Bad Wolf: Part 4**

There was once a former prince that found a strange girl in red. And discovered a wolf living underneath her exotic skin.

A wolf with claws sharp as the daggers she kept close to her sides.

A wolf with biting words that lashed from her tongue, jagged teeth hidden behind a pretty smile.

A wolf who glared back at him, the beast, the animal of nightmares and terrors, when she was merely a child, unimpressed and unafraid.

A wolf who looked him right in the eye, hearing his story, sharing her own, and said: "You may be a monster, Draco, but I know of much worse ones."

That did something to him. Their shared stories of abuse and misery, how she once again exceeded his expectations both outside when she killed to save him and here where she learned of the man before the beast, and her words. Her acknowledgement of his taste for spilled red, his ferocity, but also seeing it as the lesser of two evils compared to the cruelty she dealt with all her life. Tying into the reason why she helped him over and over again. Why she chose to stay. Why she, as ironic as it was, felt safe in his presence.

Those words rattled him. Unraveled him. Most of all, they unlocked something in him, strange, foreign-and once again she was at fault.

It was something he knew his mother dreamt about but rarely received in her own marriage. Something few of his friends managed to find, despite circumstance and clashing classes. Something he read about in countless books and watched played out across the stage, twisting something ugly and hot in his gut, a mixture of annoyance and envy and longing.

The inevitable, intimidating four-letter word that spun around in his head. Slither through his insides like a snake in the grass. Stirred a blaze of warmness sharp and hot as he stared down at her. Yet as intimating as it was, as astonishing as it was to process, he couldn't dismiss the truth.

"You're staring," she murmured, eyes closed. Comfortable in their cocoon of entwined limbs, his chest her pillow, his arm her blanket.

A smile curled his lips. "I prefer the term gazing. More romantic."

"And yet not any less disturbing."

Chuckling under his breath, he stroked her cheek. What a fine, odd pair they made.

The damned wolf and the strange girl. Who shared an unusual but unmistakable connection, sharing their secrets, baring their scars, discovering just how deep that connection ran. Talking well into the night, until their mouths were sore from excessive use, until their limbs were heavy, until silence spread across them like a warm blanket and they stayed on the couch, entangled in each other's arms.

He tucked away loose strands of inky curls and studied her face, the faux mask of innocence that had long ago been destroyed by those wretched animals she was forced to call family. Just remembering what they did to her, the role each one played in her misery, caused anger to crash over his body in roaring waves. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to allow himself to drown.

_No_ , he clenched his teeth, tension stringing his body like an arrow locked into a bow. She held their lives in her hands. She was the judge and he the executor. The second she made the call, he'd be ready.

It was the in the midst of watching her, playing with those wild curls did an idea began to sprout in his head. Planted deep in, flourishing into a vast tree. One that could be fatal. One that could end tragically. One that was just damn insane. Still he said, "Come with me the next time I hunt."

She opened her eyes and looked at him, emerald greens glinting curiously until a smile slashed across her face. "I thought you'd never ask."

~...~

Truth be told, it was an idea that had always been there, hidden in the back of his mind. Planted in the root of his brain when he came into the room and found himself at the end of her knife. An idea that grew, branching into stems and branches during the long months of training and sparring, watching her steps becoming more quick, her flying daggers making perfect aim, sensing great potential. An idea that flourished when he was at the mercy of the hunter and she took him down. Easily, quickly, without a second of fear or hesitation.

Even so, a thread of doubt reminded in him.

It was one thing to practice. Another to act in self-defense. It was quite another to be seeking out danger. Each men or woman, in the midst of preparations, reveal glimpses of the hunter they'd be. Quivering in their limbs, biting of their lips proved hesitation which would be lethal-and often times the type of toys he came across. Arming themselves to the teeth with flashy swords and arrows showed faith in weapons than their own skill, another mistake which played well in his advantage.

He wondered what type of hunter Little Red would be.

The next night they set out into the woods, the wolf with claws long and sharp, and the call for torn flesh pumping hotly in his blood. The girl cloaked in scarlet red, swinging her basket full of the roses she picked from the garden. The purpose for them, he wasn't sure. The small smile she wore as she plucked from stilled his questions.

It didn't take long for them to come across his newest toy. Another hunter sent out to capture his head, a fool ignorant of his mother's nightly tales. A carbon copy of the countless others he played with before, unremarkable in almost every way, jumping several feet into the air at the snap of a twig.

With two hands, the hunter pulled out his sword that was longer than his arm, struggling to hold it upright.

"Who's there?" the hunter demanded. The quiver of fear in his voice was delicious. "Come out and face me, you coward!"

Another snapped twig sent him high into the air.

"Where are you?"

Again and again the twigs cracked and snapped. His darling puppet danced for him, clutching his sword tighter, growing more weak-kneed as he stepped closer to the source of the sound, a fence of tall bushes.

"It's you, isn't it? The dire wolf?"

Twigs cracked. The hunter stepped closer.

"You killed all those people. Fathers, sons, brothers, even that poor girl."

An amused growl answered back, a cruel breath of laughter. The hunter came closer to the bushes, his grip so tight he heard the skin breaking.

"Well, you'll find that I won't be so easy to  _kill!_ "

The hunter brought down his sword, hacking here, slashing there until green covered the snow, dusted his face, and whatever or whoever was in there was either fatally wounded or dead.

The hunter peered in, letting out a sigh when he found nothing, a satisfied smile hanging off his mouth. "Not so tough after all," he said.

And then howled in pain as a set of claws raked down his back.

_Poor little fool_ , he thought. If only he had enough common sense to check behind him.

The fool crawled on the ground, trying to escape, blood oozing from his back. He raked his claws down on both legs before he tore off the ankles. Then flipped the hysterical, sobbing mess onto his back for a clear look at his misery.

" _Mercy!_ " the fool cried. "Mercy!"

How unfortunate for him, he had none. How also unfortunate, as delightful as it was, the show had to come to an end, which was concluded with a snip and cut and bite.

Adrenaline throbbed in his veins as he slowly crept down from the high of another successful kill. He began to sober as he heard footsteps approaching him.

Little Red's expression stayed the same as she studied the broken puppet. Her eyes flickered over to him, taking in his red-stained mouth and claws. He waited in nervous anticipation for fear, digest to cloud those emeralds greens. Unavoidable but valid emotions to the horror show he just performed.

Yet her eyes remained the same. Steady, calmed, unnerved.

When she turned back to the corpse, she walked forward and pulled out a full, blooded rose from her basket, laying it on his chest.

"A gift to offer the maker," she said.

He studied her closely.

"And a reminder to those what they'll endure in order to receive the gift."

She turned to the wolf, studying the blood on his mouth, his claws, and stroked his head as she dropped a kiss onto his brow. "Let's go home."

It was like that way for the second kill, the third kill, the tenth, the twentieth. Late in the night he'd come across a fool either by accident or for profiting purpose. She remained in the shadows, watching him deliver them a painful end. She watched him play with his puppets. Watched the way he made them cry and scream in agony as he torn them to shreds. Then she would emerge to study the corpse, leave a bloodied rose over them, stroke his head, and lead him home where she'd help clean him.

It should have been odd having a companion. He was never one for partners. Partners were irritating, meddlesome. They slowed people down. With her though, it was exhilarating. Knowing she was watching him, observing his every move. It made the lust for spilled red burn brighter, the killings more crazed and brutal. And deepened his feelings when she studied his latest masterpiece and looked at him with those gleaming greens, stirring a different sort of lust inside him.

Then came one night where another puppet fell easily into his trap, following the trail of snapped twigs. His fangs were out and hungry, his claws begging for torn flesh. He was ready to paint the snowy grounds red until she stepped out of the shadows and into the light.

He himself was processing the change of routine at the exact moment the hunter took note of her. Eyes widened, mouth dropped. The sword slipped from the fool's hands.

"I…er…ah…."

She slowly lowered her hood, revealing her princess-worthy face. She offered him a smile, a mix of innocence and allure that nearly struck them both dead. He tried to tame the jealously rattling inside him like caged animals as she shone the pathetic fool that stunning smile.

"You're beautiful."

She bowed her head and bit her lip as a pretty blush flooded across her cheeks from the compliment. He bit tongue, nearly drawing blood, to silence the growling twisted in his throat. He ran his nails deep into the ground to control himself, imagining the snow was the fool's skin.

The hunter blinked his eyes, shaking his head. "Wha-what are you doing here? It isn't safe for women to be out this late."

A smile served as her answer as she came closer to him. Anticipation rocked the fool's body as she laid her hands against his chest. Laid her head against his shoulder. Brushed his cheek tenderly, letting her fingers linger against his skin. Traced his mouth as she leaned in closer.

Then delivered him a taste of sliver right through the gut.

By the fool realized what was happening, he was down on his knees, red bursting out in waves, clutching onto her skirts as he choked on his own blood.

She didn't push him away. She didn't avert her gaze. She looked him right in the eye as he struggled to remain. When the fool was at the brink of agony, she looked up and caught the wolf's eye.

"Have fun." she smiled.

He delightfully did so with a leap. With each slash of his claws, each scream that chimed from the puppet's mouth until the fool was in pieces.

~...~

If he was reckless, she was careful. If he was unpredictable, she was diligent. He was the beast and she was his partner. His huntress, his Little Red.

She knew areas in the body that would deliver a quick death or ones that unleashed hours of agony. She knew how to shadow the hunters and wander without being seen or heard. She knew just where and how to place herself to ensure she'd be seen, which began their game.

Just like his curse became his persona, Little Red became hers. The nights she went hunting, she most times let him take control, staying behind, watching him stalk and toy and kill. Then there were nights where she joined, luring the puppets into their web and cued when it was time for him to collect his prize.

She was a magnetic to the fools. They followed the trail of snapped twigs, the sweet melody of her humming, and they found her. Her sweet innocence the bait that lured them in, her beauty the trick that lowered their guard. She'd flash a sweet smile. She'd blush from their honeyed words. She'd lower her eyes as she bit her bottom lip, the perfect image of coyness. She'd allow them to get closer, permit their touches. Then when the moment was right, when the fools were ready to claim that sweetness, the lamb morphed into a wolf and feed them with a taste of her claws.

A part of him pondered on the fact he dragged an innocent girl into his darkness. Tainting her with his ferocity, corrupting her. Yet remembering her story and seeing her bruises reminded him that her innocence had long ago been destroyed. Through beatings, through neglect, through starvation, through rape. Seeing those bright greens eyes lit with fascination and even-dare he say it-delight as they watched him rip and tear reminded him that she carried darkness inside her. Watching her slip into her costumes, innocent girl to bold temptress, frail lamb to fierce wolf showed that she not only carried darkness, but relished in it.

He didn't feel ashamed for what he's done. Or guilt. He felt like Hades watching Persephone come into her own, awed and enchanted by her skills. Completely and utterly enthralled.

~...~

He was curled up in bed, warmed by the fire burning in his mantle, lost in the latest adventures in his book when he heard footsteps entering. She stood in the doorframe in a white nightgown with straps thin as thread, skin flushed from her shower, the scent of her soap heightening her intoxicating aroma of roses and cinnamon.

He was already getting dizzy from the scene alone. The sight of her challenged his self-control. He clutched his book in a desperate attempt to keep himself calm, nearly breaking the spine.

"Are you alright?" he asked when he was sure his voice was steady.

Her lips cracked into a smile, as if to say he was adorable for her asking. It was the same question he asked her every night, whether it was after a hunt or just a simple day inside or exploring the rose garden.

Just as he asked it, she delivered the same answer. "I'm well, Draco."

He nodded, but still he couldn't rid himself of the anxiety squeezing in his stomach. "And…" He licked his lips. "You're happy?"

Her answer was another smile, soft but teasing. "Believe me, Malfoy," she said. "If I wasn't, you'd know. I wouldn't be standing here if I was anything but."

It amused him that though they've grown closer, her cheeky tongue was still intact. His smile faded though as she walked into the room, leaning against his bed pillar. The look in her eyes fired desire through his veins.

"I wanted to thank you," she said.

His brows furrowed. "For what?"

"For everything."

"You shouldn't thank me. Not yet." He scowled to himself. "We still haven't seen those damned insects." A fact that infuriated him. Months now he prowled the woods and still no sight of the fat pig or his whale of a son.

"Maybe not," she admitted. "but you did do other things, Draco." His name never sounded as wondrous as it did coming from her lips. "From the very beginning, despite your cockiness, you'd been amazing. You spared me whereas with anyone else you would have killed with no hesitation. You spoil me with books and expensive clothes, despite the fact I keep telling you not to bother. When I wanted to fight, you taught me how instead of scoffing, saying silly girls have no business with it. Most of all, after hearing everything that happened to me…everything…" She bit her cheek, eyes momentarily lost and troubled. "I had to do, you didn't judge me for it. Or said the fault was mine. Or pitied me. If anything, that just made you more protective. I don't think I ever received such kindness in my life."

His heart pounded wildly like the staccato beats of a galloping horse. His throat was as dry as summer-baked soil. "Aria…what I - what I feel for you…" He envied poets and writers who were able to so easily put down intense emotions to paper. "What I feel for you… It isn't merely kindness."

It definitely wasn't when he watched her dancing underneath the rain of rose petals, seeing her so carefree and happy, sure that his heart never felt as full as it did then. It wasn't when they were laid underneath the roses, entangled in each other. It wasn't when she looked him in the eye and said she knew of worse monsters.

However, just because he might feel that way, doesn't mean that the feelings were returned. After all, how many times, how have songs, how many stories covered the tale of one-sided love? He could only hope that his own story wouldn't join that list. He hoped what he confessed, despite how pitiful it sounded to his ears, was enough.

Aria's eyes widened slightly, then darkened, stirring the desire flaring in his stomach like a cauldron over the fire. "I know," she said. "And…" She bit her bottom lip. "I can assure you that the feeling is mutual."

His heart trembled in his chest. Then came to a thudding, hard stop as she slid one of her straps down her shoulder, letting it hang. "Aria-"

"I never had a choice," she said. "Not once during the three years of my unwanted nightly visits."

The day he crossed that vulture Michael, he'd make his death a slow, painful one.

"Not when I was forced onto my back. Not when I was shoved onto my stomach and my skirts were shoved up to my waist. Not when- not when he pried my mouth open and- and gained his own pleasure."

A brutally, unspeakably tortuous, slow death he'd reward that bastard with.

"And now… now I'm free… now that I'm here, far away from him and them, I want the choice to be mine." She pushed down the other strap, holding the dress together with only a hand. She turned to him and said. "I want it to be with you."

The nightgown landed on the ground with a soft whisper.

Just as his heart and stomach met in a hard crash.

She was beautiful. Not just beautiful but nearly godly. There were bruises that marred her, ugly ones, thick ones. Ones that he imagined were created by hard fists, by horse whips, by fire-pokers. Yet even they did not diminish her beauty. They only strengthened it. The beauty of her golden, olive skin, the sensual curves, her full breasts. Proof that she survived the monsters and came out whole.

Without taking her eyes away from his, she climbed onto the bed, onto his hips.

"Do you love me?" she asked, her voice a whisper.

"Yes."

"Do you… do you swear that you'll never hurt me?"

A wolf she may be, a skilled huntress she was, but she was still human. One who may have faced monsters but still feared them.

He cupped her cheek delicately, stroking her skin. She covered her hand over his and leaned into his touch, closing her eyes.

"I will die before I lay a finger on you," he vowed. "And butcher anyone and everyone else who'd even think to try it."

His hand grew damp from the stray tears that fell from her eyes. She kissed his hand, stroked his face as if she were trying to memorize every angle, and then her hand dropped to his shirt.

Tension, thick and burning tension, built with each button she slowly undid, each patch of bare skin that was uncovered caressed as his shirt soon joined her discarded nightgown. His breath caught in a throat that seemed gripped by anticipation as she lowered her soft lips. Time slowed. Her warm breath tantalized his skin before those lips touched his skin. Her glorious green eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire as they met his own and he finally sucked in on a gasp.

Before she was halfway through with tugging down his trousers, his cock sprang to life, nearly standing.

Any other time he might have felt flustered, but all he could feel was desperate need as she wrapped her hand around his cock, slowly churning it as her other hand slipped insider her, following the same rhythm.

He kicked the suffocating night trousers off his heated body. His mouth was wide open but no sound was coming out. His eyes were stuck on the sensual scene unfolding before him. Her wetness dripping from her, her nipples growing hard, her body trembling. Her hand-on his cock, inside her-picking up in pace, causing desire to coil both from the feeling and the sight.

His hands slide up her thighs, her hips, over to her pleasing hand. Guiding into opening those pink folds wider, moist with heat, quivering.

"Aria…" he growled, voice low and deep and hungry. He used every ounce of his willpower to lie still and let her dictate and not give into the urge to ravish her.

A low, needy moan escaped from her lips as her fingers moved in deeper, her hand moving faster, releasing a stream of growls and groans from him. The scent of their arousals mingling, growing, billowing until it filled the room. Her head arched back, face wrecked in pleasure. His hands everywhere: her sides, her hips, her chest, her neck. Adding more heat to the sensations building between them.

His body was burning up-

"Aria…" His self-control was breaking bit by bit like twigs snapping one by one. Any longer and it would snap completely. He'd be finish before it started. He'd be gone before-

She withdrew her hand.

He held his breath, eyes wide as he felt her soft hand around him, holding him tall. Slender thighs flexed as she rose above him. Her green eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire. He had to clench all his muscles, had to clamp down on his instinct to thrust and take and mark, to let her have this moment. She smiled, sweet and wild, as if she appreciated how hard he was trying to stay still.

The first touch of his skin against her jolted through him like lightning and he gasped, fingers clawing at the bedding underneath him. Her warmth slowly parted around him as she inched her way down, her hips moving in small, graceful circles. Her face was flushed bright red. Her lips parted as she whimpered and groaned. Drenched in sweat, he trembled beneath her, a growl rising softly in the back of his throat. With a last slide, her hips rested on his.

They both froze, panting, trying to comprehend how perfect it felt. There was no pain. Surprise flitted across her features and he wanted to slaughter every single one of those monsters that had made his love expect agony when entered. Dripping wet and burning hot, her desire wrapped around him like silken-gloved perfection. He could feel her heart beat wildly through their intimate connection, or maybe he was feeling his own racing heart.

Hair wild around her face, she bent over, groaning as it shifted his thick member deep inside her. Bracing on her forearms on either side of his head, she lifted her hips with careful strength and brought them back down. He panted, teeth bared in a fierce grin, his breath bathing her flushed face. Her eyes, dark and smoldering, fluttered as she tested the feel of him moving in and out of her. It sent jolts of hot pleasure and sparkling lightning through her every nerve. Her toes curled, her back arched, and suddenly she wanted  _more_.

She grabbed his face and kissed him. Open mouthed and hungry, their tongues slid against each other and lips sucked. She moaned, tears filling her eyes, dripping down her face. Pulling away, she looked deep into his eyes and-it was like a light went on. A light that finally confirmed what she knew and what she wanted, knowing with complete certainty she was safe and loved.

"Take me," she ordered, voice deep and husky, challenge and love a mix in her expression.

His eyes flew to her and she smiled down at him. She smiled as she kissed his lips over and over again, testing the frail straps of his control. She smiled as she leaned in close. She smiled as she whispered into his ear.

"Destroy me."

His control snapped. He rolled them, tumbling her onto her back. He thrilled in the way her slender arms wrapped around his shoulders, the joyful cry that escaped her wet, ruby lips. His hips snapped into hers with deliberate force, testing. Her back arched, pressing her soft, plump breasts against his chest. A wonton cry filling the room.

" _Mine_ ," he whispered against her ear, voice deep, edged in danger.

Instinctively her legs parted more for him and he began to fill her body in earnest. Rocking into her again and again, he licked up her throat, buried his hands in her hair, and held her still. Her hands trembled against his slick skin, sliding down his back, nails scratching lightly. Growling, he reached down, hooked her leg over the crook of his elbow and pressed it up and out. She gave a wild cry, head tossing as he pressed her open and cocked her hips up. She tightened around him and he gave a wild cry of triumph. Rutting deep and hard inside her, rubbing against all the places that made her squirm and cry, Draco thrust into her again and again.

"Draco…" she moaned, clinging to him tightly now. Something akin to fear entered her expression.

He dropped her leg and cradled her close, pulling her up against him so that she straddled his thighs as he continued to rut up into her. His hand sank into her hair as he held her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He wanted to promise her she was safe, that he had her, but his throat was locked with pleasure. Her body soaking wet around him and tightening. Her hips were rocking against him now, moving fast and wild. He could practically taste her pleasure in the air, so very close.

"Draco!" she cried again, nails breaking skin as she clung to him hard and fast. " _Ah!_ "

He grabbed her hips and rocked up into her harder, faster. She arched, body spasming, wetness soaking him and the bed as she came with a tearful cry. He flung her back down on her back, grabbed both legs and thrust hard and fast. Licking up her tears, he came in a burst of stars and light. Head flung back, he howled, letting it be known that she was his, he was hers.

Limp, exhausted, humming with fading bursts of pleasure, he collapsed into her waiting arms. Her lips graced his cheeks, his nose, before she tucked her face against his neck. Their legs entwined, their bodies still overheated and tingling, he ran his hands through her hair and down her naked back.

"I'll never hurt you, Aria," he vowed. "I swear it."

He could feel the smile of her lips against his neck. A soft kiss was bestowed on him. "I love you."

His eyes widened, then softened as the words sank in. A smile gracing his face, he held her closer. Their breath slowed, but their bodies stayed warm, pressed against each other. Their hearts beat in sync as they slowly faded into sleep.


	5. Part 5

" _When you threw me to the wolves that night,_

_did you think they'd find me easy to swallow?"_

-m.c

**Big Bad Wolf: Part 5**

There was once a changed beast who believed there was nothing more marvelous than spilled red. Nothing more divine, more wondrous, more beautiful than the color dripping in beads, pouring in thick streaks. Absolutely nothing.

There was once a man who years later found something that was. Something more wondrous, more beautiful, more precious.

The way those emerald green eyes dazzled in rare wonderment and delight, shedding their stone exterior.

It was the valley of bare, golden-caramel skin entrusted only to him that was marked with past bruises and made anew with his kisses and touches.

It was the way every inch of her body from shoulders, her back, her legs, even her toes twisted in pleasure that built more and more with each kiss and touch.

It was the melody of sounds that spilled from her mouth: whimpers, groans, mewls.

"Dr…Dra…"As his tongue slowly curled inside her, her head whipped to the side, one hand grasping onto her breast, the other the sheets. " _Draco_ …"

He slid in deeper until he found his mark, adding his fingers to the exploration, playing with her.

"Ple-ple…please." she begged.

He knew she was close. From the pacing her of her breaths, the quivering of her frame. She was teetering towards the edge.

All she needed was a little push.

He leaned close to her, lips tracing over her collarbone to her neck. He pressed his mouth against it at the exact moment his fingers curled, biting down hard.

Her eyes widened-

Her breathing hitched-

Her body stilled-

Then broke. Into millions and millions of pieces of breathless screams, hard shudders, and tearful cries as pleasure warped and wrecked her. The image was so memorizing, so breathtaking, he quickly dissolved into bliss with two pulls to his cock, joining her in the sensation.

With a final gasp, she fell onto the bed, limbs loose, face flushed, content and sated. He helped himself to every drip that spilled out of her, licking her until she was dry. He left a trail of kisses as he made his way up. Past her thighs, her stomach, her chest that he toyed and teased, her neck and her collarbone where his mark laid, licking the dry blood clean. And finally reached her lips.

Once again she loan him control, kissing him blood and all. He showed his appreciation with each kiss he gave that was slow and sweet. He reached over to her neck and kissed his mark, feeling her shaking underneath him.

He kissed it once more, kissed her lips, and laid on his back, bringing her to his side. She traced the faded scars matted on his chest, he played with her hair.

"I didn't think it could feel like that," she confessed. "I didn't think it could ever feel like that."

He tightened his grip on her, images of her past pain bashing against his skull like a hammer, and then loosened. He took in a breath and out with a soft smile, saying, "It can be. With the right person and feel. Luckily for us, I can provide both."

"Prick!" she smacked his chest.

He grabbed her hand and kissed it, spotting the smile she was trying to hide as well as the mark embedded on her neck. He brushed his fingers against it, feeling slight tremors passing through her.

"So…am I one of you?" she asked, her tone neutral. Curious even with not a trace of fear or disgust found.

He replaced his fingers with his lips, dropping one two three kisses, and brought her closer to him. "No. I would have to bite a lot harder for that to happen."

And he would go straight to the grave before he ever force someone, especially her, to share his fate.

She nodded against his chest and silence fell once again between them, comfortable and warm as their blanket.

"Aria?"

"Mmm?"

"While the inheritance isn't the main concept, there still is significance attached to the mark. A bond between us one that ensures me...both sides to me….that you're mine. Forever."

She was silent for a second, then two, then five. She then pressed a kiss on his chest and looked up at him, cupping his face.

"Just as you are mine," she said.

He grinned at her. She smiled at him. They sealed the promise with a sweet, delicious kiss.

~...~

A month later, a man was passing through the woods late one night with a weary, run-down carriage that sounded like it was seconds from falling apart. From the sluggish movements of his horse, the worn materials of the saddle, the loud creaking of the rusted wheels, and the weight of the humanized-gorilla driving it.

Wrapped in so many layers, face flushed from the cold, muttering grumbles, he was the epitome of misery.

"Damn swine," he muttered. "Not knowing good quality when they see. Or understanding the cost of a good steak."

He lashed the whip against the horse's back, ignoring his pained cry. "Quit your whining and move, you lazy shit!"

The horse gave a weak cry and the man whipped it again, causing to move just a bit faster.

The man grumbled under his breath. At this rate, he wouldn't reach home until tomorrow mid-day, possibly even late the way this pathetic thing was moving.

For the past few months business at his once-steady meat shop has been undermined by the lack of products to use for supply and demand. The foul that used to be easy finds were now scarce, and those found were lacking, thanks to the other greedy bastards who got the lucky pickings first. The few, sparse pickings courtesy of another factor behind the dwindling livestock.

Ice danced across his spine. Even though he was devoted man and considered himself an intellect whose brilliance were beyond the morons in his village, the butcher still wasn't a fool to dismiss the tales. Of beasts with big teeth and little regard for life. Or a conscious. Of a beast who was believed to behind the disappearances of many who were rarely recovered. Of a beast who spared his son but finished off the girl-

A pair of silver eyes stared at him.

His heart leaped to his throat.

By his left, cloaked by the darkness and the trees, they stared at him, burning like diamonds. Like two large pieces of stars. Their gaze hungry and piss-fueling terrifying. Followed by a flash of white as its sharp teeth curled into a big smile.

"I…ah…" He didn't realize he was trembling until he felt lingering piss ran down his damp pants. He dug his soles deep into the horse's sides, nearly breaking skin. "Move!"

The horse was just as petrified, frozen in fear.

"God damn you, worthless shit!  _MOVE!_ " the butcher bellowed.

Words were failing on the shit. Luckily for him, he know another method that usually worked in his favor. He wound his arm back, whip clasped in hand, ready to strike. As he heed forward, he heard a crack.

A crack.

Then snap.

Then a large oak tree cracking and snapping and falling forward fast, barely missing his head by an inch, sending him into a snowbank, smashing his carriage and meat products, causing the horse to run off in a frenzy.

The man scrambled in the snow like a headless chicken, screaming as he fought against a monster only he could see, arms flaying wildly. His legs following in suit for a spilt second before he cried out in pain, grasping onto his twisted left.

" _Fucking. Stinking. Blasted!_ " he gasped, his words a mix of anger and agony. " _Piece of shit!_ "

He turned back, where he saw the beast lurking behind, only to find he was only alone. The eyes were gone. He was alone. He was safe.

A smile cracked his face, and then quickly died.

He was without cargo

He was wet-both from the piss and the snow.

He was injured

He was alone.

Growling, he pounded his fists against the snow. He should have skinned that stupid animal, along with the squirrels he managed to find. At least that would have gained him more momentum at the fair-not to mention a fuller stomach.

"Goddamn, lousy, blasted, fucking piece of-"

"Are you alright, sir?"

Quickly he fell into silence-triggered by the shock at the sound of her voice, and then by a different sort of shock altogether when he looked up and saw a young woman standing beside him.

"I…I…aye…" The force of her beauty was so surreal, the pain from his leg was almost a distant memory. It was the aching slacked in his slacked jaw and the drool dripping down his chin that made him awakened him from his daze. He cleared his throat and said, "Who are you?"

A smile served as her answer. Those bright greens glowing vividly. There was something about those eyes that were vaguely familiar.

As soon as the thought began to form, the man pushed it out of his head, a firm believer in coincidences.

"Do you think that you can help me? My useless horse ran off. The foul stock I brought in had been destroyed. And my leg might be broken…"

Wearing that serene smile, the girl walked over to him until she stood over him like a shadow. A strange feeling stirred in his chest as that smile began to change.

Still he reached out his hand, shivering from the snow seeping through his soaked layers, his leg throbbing. "Please-"

In a flash of silver, his hand was sliced off by the wrist and discarded feet away. Before he could process the thought, before he could take in the blood spraying from his handless wrist, before he could even draw a breath, he was slammed hard onto the ground by something bigger than a strange woman.

Something that was bigger. Something that was stronger. Something that was angrier.

Tearing off his other hand that was once used to beat a helpless girl.

Bashing in his kneecaps over and over again in such glee over his screams and cries.

Ripping off the legs that kicked and kicked a helpless girl until she coughed out blood.

Flipping him onto his stomach and slashing his back until he could feel the brisk wind stinging against exposed skin and bones.

Cracking those bones, stomping in a particular one at the lower spine that made pain sing at the highest soprano, causing him to cry out.

Making sure every shred, every ache, every morsel she experienced under his care was felt-and felt a hundredfold.

"Wait."

The wolf, his white fur caked with blood and skin, pulled away from the man's throat before he could tear it off. He growled down at the pathetic, whimpering creature underneath him before he backed away slowly, looking toward her for guidance.

She walked over to the whimpering disgrace and rolled him onto his back with her foot, ignoring his whimpers and cries. She eyed the sea of blood that caked his body, the mass of piss and shit that soiled his clothes, the tears and snot plastered on his face.

She stared down at the disgraceful man trembling underneath her gaze. That unnerved, sharp, steady gaze that hadn't changed during the time of his torture. That steady gaze, though cool, though emotionless, was more frightening than that of the wolf.

She bent over him, reached into his mouth, and clasped his tongue. As she rose herself up back up, she tugged the organ along with her, clasping tight, yanking so hard that his head practically was dangling off the ground. Deaf to the man's sobbing and stifled pleas, she studied his tongue and withdrew a knife from her cloak.

"I seem to recall a little girl who once asked you for help. A little girl who hoped that maybe you'd see her as a daughter someday. Until she quickly learned anything from you and your family will give her nothing but pain."

A hard tug.

"And scorn."

Another tug and hot tears, of shame, of embarrassment, of pain, poured down his face.

"And hatred."

Another tug and he could feel nerves breaking apart like twigs.

Her eyes looked down at him, and he soiled himself once more, chunks practically erupting from within. The hatred that blazed those eyes, the rage seething in her gaze was more horrifying than that madness that swirled in the wolf's.

The spark of recognition, tangled in disbelief and fear, which burst into his eyes was so delicious, the wolf's mouth was watering.

"This is for that little girl."

She plunged the knife into his tongue and twisted it.

The man rattled in pain, his screams muffled from her iron grip.

"This is for her parents and every horrible thing you ever said about them."

She dragged the dagger deep across his tongue, the organ parting into twos.

"And this," Wickedness curved her mouth, and he would have soiled himself again if there was anything left in him. "Is for the hell of it."

She yanked out his tongue so hard, it was shocking it didn't rip out of his mouth right then. Then slowly she sawed it, drawing the knife back and forth, tightening her grip as he weakly squirmed and struggled. Until the every last nerve was severed and his mouth felt hollow.

The sounds that came out of his mouth were almost mindless, babbling, and gasping, all lost in the bloodflow bubbling in his mouth, dripping down his chin.

She spared him one last glance and delivered a swift kick to the face that knocked him out cold.

~...~

Her request to go back to the rose field was a surprising one to make but one he didn't question. Years of playing his games and returning back bloody, he kept clothes stashed throughout the woods should he not be able to return back home until the next morning. There was a creek near right by the field that helped him clean himself.

He scrubbed his face, his hair, his hands vigorously. He rinsed his mouth several times over, trying to erase any remains of blood or skin.

She peeled off her cloak and left on the ground, stepping into the creek. Wading until the water was up to her waist and laid back, feet together, arms stretched out. She looked like a painting. The moonlight shining down on her face, black hair fanned out, the water lapping through her clothes, the look on her face almost peaceful. Until he noticed the slight but unmistakable tension around her mouth.

"I wanted to kill him," she confessed as he approached him. "When I saw him, it was like everything he and his family had ever done hit me at once. The insults, the beatings, the starvation, the complete lack of care. I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands." She shook her head as if ridding herself of an awful dream. "Then I realized death would have been too easy."

Too easy, too kind and preferably much pleasant than the sentence the bastard was condemned to. Paralyzed from waist down, handless and legless without a tongue. All caused by the niece he hated and abused all those years.

If that wasn't poetic justice or irony at its' finest, he wasn't sure what was.

"Draco," she asked him. "How did it feel like? When you killed your father?"

He thought back to that horrible night. His father's untouchable mask breaking apart once he realized he was no longer in control, eyes wide in terror. The fear that burned in his eyes when he saw what his arrogance had caused. A sharp, daunting contrast to the tyrant who held him and Mother by a short, tight lease. How painfully, almost laughably easy it was tearing him apart. "At the moment, nothing," he answered finally. "Afterwards, shock. Fear. Even shame, mostly at the way he-more so my mother-looked at me. But mainly amazement. I spent all my life fearing this man, thinking he was untouchable." He cupped her face, stroking her cheek tenderly. "When in reality, he was too easy to kill."

She nodded once. A closer inspection of her face revealed dry streaks. Tears. Of anger, of pain, of regret. Possibly all three.

~...~

Word of the butcher's horrific attack spread like wildfire among the village, triggering mayhem and fear. It was always known that there was something evil lurking in the woods, whispered in hush-hush tones, speculated about through silent conversation and behind closed doors. But the man's mangled return served as proof to the long-awaited confirmation.

Fear already existed in the small village, hovering in the air, whispering through the shadows, courtesy of the raising number of absentees as well the horrific remains that were found. Fear mounted when the butcher was brought in, legless and armless without a tongue, his mouth stuffed with bright red roses. Soiled from dirt, snow, and shit. Flakes of dry blood and spit flying from his mouth as healers tried to help him, removing the thorny flowers. Fear exploded when he was inspected by healer and high priest and broke into an insane meltdown when his wife leaned in closer and the bright scarlet color of her dressing set off him.

His battered body and deranged state severed the villagers' peace of mind, stripping the last shred of deceitful innocence they had left. As well as harmed his business since he was no longer had the tools to his work and his son, though he looked capable, lacked the stomach to continue the trade. And lacked the strength to put in actual work.

"It's as such as if he's frightened of the color red, Father," his wife sobbed as the Priest came over to their home to check on him. "Anytime he even see a hint of it, he goes mad."

Baffled, a pair of light-blue eyes flickered over to him. The butcher was tangled in so many sweaters and blankets that looked more like strait jackets. Curious, he peeled a red flower from a dead banquet by the bed and held it in front of him.

And nearly lose his hand in the progress.

~...~

Shrieks burst from her mouth as she raced through the fields, bouncing through the trees. Laughter mixed in with the shrieks as she quickened her pace, running and stumbling down the hill. She looked over her shoulder, seeing how close he was, eyeing the smirk on his face, and tried to run faster.

She screamed as arms wrapped around her waist, bringing her against his chest, spinning her around before sending them down to the ground.

Flustered, she looked up at him.

"I won," he smirked. "Again."

"Prick."

"And I want my prize."

His smirk widened, and then softened into a smile as he ran his hand through her hair, against her cheek. Laid across the rose-covered ground, petals entwined in the sea of black waves, she was a painting come to life. So surreal and utterly divine.

Despite her earlier annoyance, warmth sparked in her eyes as she looked at him, so vast and pure he felt like he was drowning. "Well," she said. "what would you like it to be?"

He hummed and grabbed a discarded petal, studying her. So many options and no clue to begin. It was like having a buffet laid out in front of you and unsure where to take the first bite. "So many choices," he mused, brushing the petal against her chest. "There's this." He brushed against her nose, causing it to crinkle. "There's also this, which is my favorite." A brush against her plump lips, curved into a smile. "And of course, this," The petal slid down to her chest, sensing her steady heart beating underneath. "Is always priceless."

She entwined her arms around his neck and brought him close. "And forever yours."

He hummed happily as he nuzzled his face against the nap of her neck, dragging his teeth across her skin, delighting in the shivers that rocked her body.

~...~

Best way to control chaos was through order. The key to order was the removal of source behind the chaos. The village officials knew there was no other choice but to finally take down the beast once and for all. They also knew the right motivation to ensure the removal would be, as was the way with most tasks, a nudge. Such as a heavily, greatly generous award to whatever would bring back the head.

The officials came together, including several members from prestigious families, to make the decree. To any man or men capable of taking down the wolf and bringing his head as proof, a thousand golden pieces would be his award.

The butcher's son delighted at the prize but frowned at the work that would go into it. His best friend, son of a blacksmith, smiled smugly, thinking of all the ways he'd spend that money. What food he'd feast on, what clothes he'd buy, what girl he'd rent for the night. Perhaps more than one.

However the villagers quickly discovered that the task wouldn't be as easy as they believed. After all, there was a reason why the wolf remained after so many years. Men into the woods to collect the prize in ones, in twos, in threes. Armed to the teeth with swords and bows, equipped with their poisons and crosses, and were found either in pieces or not at all.

Months after the decree was made, the smith's man's son seek out into the woods. Dressed in all black, armed with his bow and quiver, two swords strapped to his sides, and a dagger tucked into his pocket. Unlike the rest of the fools who ventured in and got lost, he knew the best way was slip into the dark corners, where the monster laid. And then cut off his head.

Years of watching his father in his workshop helped him learned the importance of quality. Years of watching his best friend's father tear apart foul in the back and sell them in the front showed him how and where to cut. Years of engaging in a game of cat and mouse with a peculiar tease of a girl, always coming out on top, taught him that winning was in the bag.

And win he would. He'd find the creature, rip it apart, and drop it right in the center of the village.

Because he was clever.

Because he was craftier.

Because he was-

A scream pierced through his thoughts.

Others would fled. Some would have shivered, but he didn't come all this way to lose. He hopped off his horse and ran to the source of the noise. Shoving through bushes, dodging branches and fallen stumps, he braced himself for sharp teeth. He braced himself for sharper claws.

He didn't brace himself for a fireplace crackling, hosted by a figure whose back was turned to him. From the lithe frame of her figure and the thin material of her dress, she didn't look to be frightening. Even so, he didn't release his grip. Not yet.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

She rose from the log she was sitting on and turned to him, the bright glow of her feline eyes stopping him on sight.

"The better question," she said, voice soft and sultry as a song. "would be who are you?"

"Someone who has enough common sense not to be out in the woods this late." Never did liked a woman with a smart mouth. The way he saw it, there were plenty of other things that it could be better used for. "Or looks like a frightened doe."

A frightened and very much pretty doe. Black wild hair, skin the color of caramel, and bright-bright green eyes, dressed in a white thin gown that was the picture of innocence. However…the longer he looked at her, déjà vu prickled through his brain, although he couldn't place the connection.

What he could place was the warmth he felt growing in his stomach and lower region.

He studied her mouth, full and red that looked like it could be quite useful for him. After all, who was he to turn away a maiden in distress, especially one that looked so…ripe?

"Perhaps," He took another step forward. "We can watch out for each other."

Those plump lips curved upwards.

"Even take care of each other," he proposed with another step.

She didn't move away as he took another step, then another and another. She didn't move away as he closed the distance between them. She didn't move as he toyed with a loose black curl. "What of my love who went out to get more firewood? I doubt he'll approve."

Love. Meaning not-husband. Meaning not-betrothed. Meaning she was free to pick and pluck.

"Well then," The smug hunter lifted up his cloak to show off the weapons he had on him. "I insist that we make it quick. I also insist," His hand dropped from her hair down to the front of her nightgown, with its' low neckline and laced-up front. He gave her his most charming smile as he tugged on the lace, undoing the tie. "that you be a good girl and keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you."

A light glowed in her eyes that almost looked like laughter. "You're quite fond of good little girls, aren't you?"

He looked up at her and smiled, brushing his hand over her chest. "Only pretty ones like you."

The curl in her lip curved into a smile. "You don't recognize me, do you, Michael?"

Familiarity hit him over and over again like a hammer but he couldn't make the connection. He'd sure he'd place her if they've met before. "I recognize that you're a beautiful woman."

That made her smile gleam brighter.

Pain searing pierced through him, dragging on like a glacier, burning more brightly with each move.

He tried to speak but there was disagreement with speech and his mouth. It felt heavy. His stomach felt heavy, being shredded apart by the pain. By the dagger dipped into his naval.

She leaned close to him, her smile still gleaming. "I can't tell you how many times, how many nights I dreamt of doing that."

He tried to speak but his limbs were growing heavy. Pain slammed into his face, knocking him back onto the ground. Pain massacred his back. Pain hammered at his chin and neck, pain bashed into his face, all of them coming together in a searing symphony.

She rose up and walked over to the fireplace, picking up something. Another dagger halfway in the fire, the metal bright orange. The smile on her face was a blend of sweet and sinister.

"And the number of times I dreamt of doing this."

She unzipped his pants and pushed them down. She brought up his cock, tugged it hard, and cut.

The smell of burnt flesh singed his nose. The bite of pain rattled his body. She was deaf to his screams and cries, dragging the hot blade back and forth, back and forth. Digging it deeper, the heat of the fire and the sharp edge of the knife harmonizing and clashing, hurting so damn bad.

Once she was done, she stuffed his dismembered cock into his cock, shoving it down his throat.

"Not much fun when you're the one who gets hurt, is it?"

She plucked the dagger out of his stomach. Then pinned his hands into the snow with those daggers, twisting them slowly, watching him shake and cry from agony.

"Not so much fun when you're at someone's mercy."

He tried to move. He tried to scream. But his voice was gagged by his cock and blood. His body so riddled in pain, weighted down by it, that he was helpless. All else failing, he tried pleading through his tear-filled eyes, begging for mercy.

She smiled down at him and stomped down on the knives, his hands, crushing his bones, crushing them further into the ground, relishing in his pain.

"Well those good little girls didn't find it fun either."

She took a step back and for a fleeting moment he hoped that she was through with her games. That she would let him go. Show him mercy. Fleeting hope that was short-lived as a foot slammed down on his shoulder.

"Especially me."

Her foot moved over to the other shoulder, stomping down on it.

"For three years, you hurt me."

Stars danced across his eyes as her foot swung his face to the other side.

"For three years, you raped me."

Another kick, this time to the head, nearly cracking his skull.

"You laughed at me." One kick. "You mocked me." Another stomp, shattering his collarbone. "And on the final night, you raped me over and over again until I was drenched in your filth, and said when you were finally done, 'All else fails, Potter, you'll make a good whore.'"

Another kick to the neck, curling in the back bones like a bridge, brutal pain pounding down his spine like a hammer.

"Let me show you how good of a whore I can be."

She plucked out her daggers and dug them into his shoulders. Then his arms, then his chest. Powered by anger, ignited by hatred, digging her claws everywhere and anywhere until there wasn't a spot on his body that hadn't been touched by her blade. Pricked by pain.

He screamed-or tried to, until his voice was hoarse, his throat. On and on he screamed, he begged, he pleaded. Mercy, mercy, mercy. And on and on, she clawed and cut.

She stepped back to admire her work, the patchwork of broken skin and blood. Some of which splashed onto her clothes, into her hair, onto her face. She turned back, tucking her bloody knives into her dress.

"He's all yours."

_W-what?_ He tried to move, but the pain limited his movements. He glanced over, where white furred front legs stood in front of him.

The wolf smiled down, drool dripping from his open mouth, running his tongue over those sharp teeth before he lunged.

~...~

There were interesting hunts. There were good hunts. And then there were the best hunts, and this one, in his opinion, would go down as one of the best ones yet. The symphony of screams and cried. The terror and pain that flashed through his eyes. The sweet flow of head that rained from his body, from her claws and then his.

The bastard was so torn up, so mangled, he wondered who would have a harder time finding the body. Friends or the animals?

Any other time, he would have celebrated the victory. With liquor, with feast, with love-making.

The thought flew out of his head when he looked into her face.

Control began to crack through her cool exterior, fury bleeding through the splinters when she maimed the bastard. Then control was restored as she watched him finish the rest, stoic and calm. Too calm.

She patted his head when he was done and went home without another word. She was barely through the door before she stripped herself of her knives, her clothes. By the time he came through the front door, she was already upstairs.

He decided to leave her be for awhile, but before long, seconds dragged to minutes, minutes to an hour, the silence growing thicker.

Finally he went up. A quick glance showed she wasn't in their room. Or her old one. He found her in the bathroom. She sat in the tub, knees drawn up to her chain, arms wrapped like a cocoon, shaking in red-tainted water that had to be freezing by now.

"Aria?"

A shudder rippled down her spine, but she didn't turn around or lift her head.

"Aria?"

She still didn't turn around.

He joined her in the tub, clothes and all. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, feeling another shudder rippling through her like a wave. "It's okay."

Those words broke her.

Tears that were silent grew into hard sobbing, gushes of fury and pain. Pain buried so deep; that might never fully heal.

He still tried to ease it as best as he could, wrapping his arms around, holding her close.

_You're okay_ , he said with cradle he rocked.

_You're safe_ , he said through each stroke of her hair.

_You'll never be hurt again_ , he said through each kiss to her head.

~...~

It had been over a year since the butcher had been found, fatally injured and barely alive, muttering about wolves and red. Muttering that continued on, more desperate, more hysterical.

Yet somehow the village and its' people managed to move on despite the number of times men went into the woods and the number of times they were found in pieces. Despite how grotesque the remains were shredded, each more horrifying than the last. Somehow they managed to ignore the grim signs, the images, and continue on with life as things were normal.

That all changed when the blacksmith's son was finally found weeks later after his venture. Up until that point, his father and best friend were under the impression that he might have found a girl and new place to settle down. That illusion was destroyed when he was brought back by a farmer who found him, his remains so disturbing his own father vomited at the sight before he wept.

Suffering, the healer declared once she was through with her examination. The boy was put through great, unspeakable suffering before he met his end. What was done to young Mike had to be the beast's best and worst work done yet.

"The creature is not just a beast," the high priest declared. "but a demon."

~...~

He found her huddled by the fireplace one early morning after waking up to find himself alone in bed. She seated in front of the hearth, the flicker of the fire glowing in her green eyes. She was wrapped in one of the blankets she must have stolen from the bed.

The night she killed her abuser and rapist, she spent it and many more after that night in his arms, weeping or crying in silence. He held her throughout it all, promising her that she was safe. That she was alright. That no harm would never come to her.

Looking at her, the vow surged through his blood. Looking at her, he was amazed by her strength, surviving the type of pain that would have crippled many, including himself. But she did.

She sent him a soft smile and invited him into her blanket cocoon, which he happily accepted. She tucked her head under his chin, his arms around her waist, her seated on his lap.

"Aria?"

"Yes?"

"Are you happy here?"

She smiled, used to the question, and nodded once. He tightened his hold and kissed her brow.

Silence descended between them, soft and easy. She unwound his hand and rested it on her stomach. It took him awhile for the gesture to sink in, hitting him like a punch.

She was…there was…"You're-"

She confirmed it with a slight nod.

There were two things he never thought of having after he was remade. Finding someone like her that was willing to be with him, and having a family.

A lifetime ago the possibility of an heir to the Malfoy name would either be a joyous occasion or a ghastly affair, depending on the circumstance. Now? Possibilities spun.

A little boy with his hair and coloring with her eyes. Or a little girl that was the exact replica of her mother from her sharp eyes and sharper tongue. Or a creature with sharp teeth and claws.

His excitement turned cold. 'How long?"

"A few weeks," she said. "Possibly over a month."

If he was stunned by the revelation, he couldn't imagine how she felt finding out. Her voice gave no hint of what she was feeling. Her face betraying not a single emotion. With everything she dealt with growing up and the sudden changes in her life, he couldn't fault her if the idea was less than welcoming.

"I want it." she declared before he could ask.

"You-you do?"

She placed her hand over his that covered her stomach. "I do," she said in absolute certainty.

~...~

The butcher's son was the weakest one to enter the devil's playpen.

His mother knew it as she sent in him, bundling him in extra layers for protection against the cold. His father knew it even in his mad mindset, breaking into another fit that left bruises on his mother. Hell, even he knew it, climbing it onto his horse and setting off into the woods.

As the hours dragged and the weather grew colder, his hopelessness and fear heightened. What if he didn't find the wolf? All of this exhaustion and suffering only for him to end up with squat? What would happen if he see the wolf? The last time he came face-to-face with the wolf, he barely escaped with his life and someone else lost theirs.

To this day, her final screams continued to haunt him.

When he heard a sound, he was ready with his bow. Then was instantly struck down by the heart-stopping beauty of the woman in red standing before him, looking like she stepped out of the pages of his cousin's old storybooks.

"Hello," she purred, a glint sparkling in her jaded eyes that glowed like a cat. Her ruby-red, plump lips curved into a soft smile, heightening her beauty.

"Hr-I mean hi. I mean," The weak hunter cleared his throat. "Hello."

She flashed him another smile that made his heart backflips and cartwheels, and made him change the course of his plans. He was supposed to find the wolf; the money too good to pass over. However it wouldn't be right to let such a soft thing walk off by herself.

As they walked along, past and future wrapped around in his head. Opening up about his last encounter with the wolf, those big eyes, those jagged teeth that gave him chills just thinking about it, with her listening intently every step of the way. Puzzlement hitting his head as he stared her, sure that they met before but wasn't sure how or when. Picturing (and greatly hoping) her welcoming him home after work, heavy with his child, naked in his bed.

"How did your parents take the news?" she suddenly asked.

Take the news? Of what? Oh, she meant the girl. For a moment, he was loss at words. "My parents?" She nodded again. "They-they were devastated. They loved her. She was like a daughter to him. I loved her like a sister."

Her next nod was slow.

He told her more about the string of attacks that followed after his cousin's death. Each more vicious, more gruesome than the last. How his own father barely escaped, his body broken, his mind even worst. His friend, Mike, who suffered the worst end at the beast's hands. How mayhem and fear was growing so rapidly, spiraling out of control that a prize was being awarded to whoever that could take care of the problem.

Disapproval set on her face at the mention of money.

"I'm also doing this for Mike," he insisted. "My father. And my cousin. I adored her and the wolf took her from me and my family. He killed her. And-and he left a hole in my heart. Her name was-"

"Aria Potter."

The name stopped him like a punch to the gut, knocking out his next breath. He looked over to the girl, wondering how she knew that name when a growl ripped through air, the sound raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Feet emerged from the maze of bushes, pale as snow.

Big, white teeth glistened in the moonlight fixed into a deadly smile.

Bigger, bottomless eyes studied him ravenously, carving him up like a Christmas ham.

Great. Stinking. God.

It was like he was sixteen years old all over again. The girl may be different, but the setting was the same: frightened him, killer wolf. The very same one who stared at him in the exact way as he did back then, like he was a ham he was already carving with his eyes.

No. No, it wasn't the same. He had something he didn't have back then. He had weapons. He had arrows and a sword. He had a gorgeous girl behind him he could make a wife of if he managed to impress her.

"Don't worry, miss," He stepped in front of her, blocking her from the wolf's view, bringing out his sword. "I'll protect you."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," she said, her voice strangely calm. "For you see, sir, I'm not the one who needs protection."

_What?_  He turned his head back to her.

Silver flashed across his face, its metal tongue kissing his neck. His next breath came out in a strangled hiss as streams of blood gushed from the slit wound.

The girl's smile morphed from soft to sinister as he placed a hand against his neck, attempting to stop the bleeding, slowly sinking to the ground. The blood dripping from the dagger she held in her hand matched the shade of her cloak.

"Even in my "'death,'" you're still a spoiled, stupid pig."

He tried to speak, but his mouth, his throat…useless, heavy sacks. Too much blood, not enough air.

As he sank to the ground, the girl toyed with her dagger as she shared a story of hers. Of a wolf that haunted down any and all that crossed his path. People that were victims of circumstance, wrong place, wrong time. Except, she said, for a few of her choosing.

His father for the severe abuse he put her through.

Mike for the three years he raped her.

"And, of course, there's you." Those piercing green eyes that captivated him when he stumbled upon her were fierce as fire, carrying a torch of deep, unflinching hatred that was a fear all its own. "You who stood guard at the door while your friend did those things to me. Who delighted in seeing me get beaten, be punished. Who caused all the trouble and pinned it on me every time, which brought on more beatings."

It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. He remembered the way the wolf looked at her. He heard her scream. There was nothing left but a scrap of red when they came back to look for her.

Until she pushed back her hair, revealing a thick birthmark shaped like a lightening mark carved onto her temple.

There was only one he knew that had that mark. "Aria!"

"Hello Dudley," she smiled. "And goodbye." She looked up at the wolf, enjoying their family reunion. "Have fun, Draco."

_Draco?_ Dark delight shone in the wolf's eyes as he looked at him, his curving into a terrible smile.

He barely had time to scream before the wolf pounced on him, turning his world into one of teeth and pain.

~...~

Hours later, basked in the aftermath glow of victory and sex, wrapped in her warmth, he ran a lazy finger down her spine.

'What was that about me not claiming you?" he teased.

"Hush." She smacked his arm.

He laughed, and again even harder as she throw out her favorite name for him. "Prick."

"Remind me of the story again?" he mused. "A girl in red wanders into the woods, innocent as a flower, soft a doe. Who crosses path with a dangerous too intrigued by her." He pushed back strands of her dark hair, revealing the latest mark he printed onto her neck. "Too tempted. So with his big eyes, he watched her. And with his big teeth." He kissed her shoulder blade before biting down. "He had her."

She tried to appear unfazed but the smile on her face betrayed her. Based on the look of his own face, she knew he suspected it as well.

"Do you know what you are?" she asked.

"Handsome? Incredible? Perfect?"

"Insufferable."

He met her smirk with one of his own. "Do you know what you are?"

"What?" she asked.

"Magnificent."


	6. Part 6 (epilogue)

" _But monsters are always hungry,_

_darling,_

_and they're only a few steps behind_

_you."_

_-richard siken_

**Big Bad Wolf: Part 6 (epilogue)**

There was once a young man who was practically a prince in his own right. Born into a prestigious family whose wealth and influence dated back generations and was vastly endless. Bless with a sort of beauty that was believed to by handcraft by angels. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the world at his feet.

Any other story, the young man would be granted a wonderful ending. Inheriting his family's estate. Marrying into a good family that would increase his influence. Creating the next heir to the throne with a beautiful wife.

Things would have turned out that way. If it wasn't for his father, whose scheming and greed was the man's downfall.

His father betrayed a dark man. A very dangerous man whose cruelty was the muse of nightmares. He demanded his debt to be paid. When it wasn't, it was decided that the man was the perfect form of payment.

The young man went from being a princeling whose future was bright to a monstrous beast.

The night he was changed, the former princeling turned beast killed everyone present at the masquerade ball his parents threw in his honor. Kill. Too kind of a word. Slaughtered was better suited. Hardly anyone escaped from those teeth and claws.

Not the guests, not friends. Not even his father who tried reaching out to him, almost as if he was trying to reach for any trace of humanity that reminded in his son. Only to have that hand chopped off, then his arm, and then his whole body.

From that night on, bloodlust and brutality have been his sole companions through the nights, the weeks, the years-

"That must have been horrible."

The priest stopped halfway through his story. His light-blue eyes blinked several times, as if his mind was trying to walk back into reality.

Across from him, a young woman fidgeted with her cloak, her expression thoughtful. By her feet laid a woven basket, and to the side a large box.

He found her by the candle shrine, the front row of white candles lit. Her eyes stared at them without seeing anything, mind a thousand miles away.

"Who are you praying to, my dear?"

For a moment there was only silence. Sure that she wanted to be alone, he was about to move on until she spoke:

"A family?"

"Yours?" Sympathy settled onto his chest.

She shook her head once, eyes focused on the burning flames. "The Riddles. They were killed earlier tonight. Ripped apart." A single head shake. "By…by it."

His blood turned cold.

"What was done to them-" She broke into a shudder, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself, too horrified to say anything else.

He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, dark curls tumbling down her shoulders, bright eyes brimming with tears. Perhaps it was the tears. Perhaps it was the vivid color that stirred familiarity in his head. Perhaps it was just the nature of his profession. Perhaps it was all three, and the fact she, like him, was in need of a companion for the late night.

Whatever the reason, the high priest invited her into his office for tea. A tea meeting, which turned into storytime at her request. The story of the Big Bad Wolf.

He filled her cup with lemon tea and pushed a loaf of bread towards that hadn't been touched for the past half hour.

She took the tea, stealing a small sip but not the bread. Her hands wringed her cloak, her bemused expression unchanged. His eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed her. When he first met her and she expressed her grief over the Riddles, he assumed she was a servant there. Or perhaps an admirer of the heir. The clothes hinted at the possibility with her simple but expensive black and silver dress trimmed with lace, with a woolen dark cloak to go with it.

"What do you mean, my dear?" the priest asked.

"What happened to him," she clarified. "The young man. What his father's sins cost him. What he was forced to do. He endured all of it alone." She shook her head. "I wouldn't be able to bear it."

He spotted a few tears rolling down her cheeks before she hastily wiped them away. "You shouldn't shed your tears for such a creature, my dear."

Any trace of humanity, he gently explained, any piece of the man he was had been destroyed long ago, starting with that very night. Followed by every night afterwards.

With every kill he made.

With every victim he took.

With every drop of innocent blood he shed.

"If I were to count those drops, the sheer number could make up an ocean. The beast," The priest shook his head. "It doesn't matter to him who the victim is. Whether man or woman. Saint or sinner. He kills any and all. In this village alone, he's taken dozens of lives. Hunters, tradesman, farmers. Our former butcher was left for dead by it." A sorrowful sigh escaped his lips as he shook his head, thinking back on the ruined man. "I think none have suffered greatly as he. Losing his arms, his legs, his tongue-and the better part of his mind. Then his son to the beast, and before that his daughter."

"His daughter?" she asked.

"The daughter of his wife's deceased sister," he clarified. "She and her husband were killed by thieves and the child was given to his family to care for."

"That must have been quite a handful, taking in another child."

He dismissed the claim with a gentle smile and firm head shake. "The bond of family knows no bound. I suppose in the beginning the kind sir and his wife were a bit…surprised by the new addition to their family, but they didn't object. They raised the girl, along with their son, and from what I've seen, they seemed to be quite a close family."

"Did you know her well? The girl I mean."

The priest leaned back in his chair, letting his mind wander. The small child clad in red with her wild black hair and thin frame. Always carrying a basket filled with food and supplies each time she tried to run. The flat look in her eyes whenever he sat her down and reminded her of the kindness her relatives have shown her by letting her stay with them. Reminding her the importance of family, and how they were the only ones she had. The faded bruises that flashed here and there as he escorted her back home.

"I'd like to believe that we were close. She did, after all, spent enough time in my church for the two of us to build a bond. She was a quiet girl. Very shy and peculiar, preferring to be alone. I can only recall a few times when I saw her smile." On one hand actually as he thought about it, the smiles often faint and fleeting. "She was also deeply troubled. Despite the kindness she was shown at home, she would still try to run away. I think those fantasy stories she was fond of reading were getting to her head. I would sit her down and talk to her. Reminded her that her mother, may her soul rest in peace, would be heartbroken seeing what she was doing. Reminded her that family is everything, and that she should be grateful to be included in one."

The young woman hummed thoughtfully as she finished her tea, pushing the cup towards him.

"One day she and her cousin were out collecting firewood in the woods when the beast appeared. The boy barely managed to escape. She, however, wasn't as fortunate."

Her hands, lying on her lap, curled into fists so tightly that the skin turned nearly turned white.

"All that was left of her was a piece of her cloak. A glimmer, no doubt, of the torture she was put through. However…" His eyes flickered back and forth, as if he were frightful of eavesdroppers. "I have a different theory."

She leaned forward, intrigued.

He met her through halfway. "The beast never ever lets his victims escape. The butcher is the only expectation, and his condition is so horrendous that some wonder if death would have been better. With the girl, though, given how young she was, how attractive she looked, the beast decided to keep her instead as some sort of pet. Kept her and ruined her in every way possible, inside and out."

Shivers crawled up her spine, expanding to her entire frame.

A grave nod. "Those who gaze into the eyes of the devil will find themselves burning from the inside out."

She took in a deep breath and uncurled her hands. She ran them over her face, through her hair. The gesture was so familiar, his breath halted.

_No_ , the priest denounced,  _it couldn't be._

She wiped away the remnants of her tears and put on a small smile for him. She reached down for the box and pushed it towards him.

"I must make a confession, sir. I didn't come here to pay my respects for the Riddles. I also came to deliver this to you," Her smile grew a bit bigger. "A gift."

He smiled, delighted. Perhaps it was a new bible; he could always use another. Or a handcrafted cross, considering the weight. Or food, given the scent although it wasn't entirely pleasant. Or maybe-

The dead widened eyes of Lord Tom Riddle stared back at him, his face frozen forever in pain and fear, blood encrusted along the edge of his severed head.

Priest Dumbledore nearly fell out his seat, heart leaping to his throat.

It was truly a wonder he was able to recognize the man. The burn patches printed along his skin, ripe bruises from knuckles, slit cuts from knives, he was hardly recognizable.

"That was quite the story, sir," He glanced over at the girl. She smiled back at him, as if the severed head was a flower arrangement. "Riveting in fact. Although I couldn't help but think that it could use a few… adjustments." Her bright, cat-like eyes flickered above his head. "Don't you think so, my love?"

Claws dug into through the elder's shoulders, pinning him against his chair.

A young man smiled down at him, enjoying his stifled screams and gasps like music. On the surface, he appeared as a prince in fine clothes with his luminous skin, his handsome face, his hair so pale it shone white. But his claws, the dark laughter roaring in his eyes, revealed a creature that wasn't _-couldn't_  be human.

"I agree," he answered. "I think the priest and I," Absolute cruelty shaped the smile he gifted him with. "Would be delighted to hear your interpretation."

The young woman's smile grew as she looked at him. She leaned back into her chair. "There are two sides to every story, sir. One spun from different mouths and rumors. Another that's entirely my own."

The day the girl was taken by the wolf, she said, wasn't the first time the two had met. In truth, it was earlier years back when the girl was nearly a child, living in her hellhole with monsters at every corner sucking her dry. Of her innocence, her dignity. When she first saw the creature caught in a hunter's trap, she could have left him to die or call for the hunters to finish off the job. Instead she did the unthinkable. She let him go.

"Because of all the monsters she'd face," she said. "He was the least evil of them all."

She didn't think much of what happened after he escaped, the time between then and there stretching into years. She convinced herself that it was nothing more than a dream. Until the day she came face to face with him, and he intended to claim a debt that was unknowingly made long ago.

The price? Her.

"She was so sure she was going to die. The moment he tackled her to the ground, she was sure of it. When she woken up in his fortress, she embraced the possibility. Accepted it. After all the pain she suffered at the hands of her so-called family, she wanted it to finally end. She was ready to die. Imagine her surprise when she learned otherwise. Her captor didn't take her because he wanted to kill her. Or harm and use her as so many others had. He took her because he recognized a trapped creature. Imagine her surprise when he soon became the only person in the world to understand the loneliness and pain she was in."

He tried to move, but the beast tightened his grip, crushing the bones underneath his palms.

"He cared for her while she was ill. He fed her, insisting she'd eat more and more, when he noticed how small she was. He taught her everything there was to know. Fighting, hunting. He let her be when her mood darkened. He comforted her when the memories were too vivid. Never asking for anything more. Never demanding payment. Distrust and hesitation between the two slowly melted into respect. Respect turned to fondness. Fondness then," Her eyes shifted over to his captor, their captor, her gaze softening. "deepened into love."

_Love?_  With this monster? It couldn't be.

Yet, as she glanced up at the creature, there was…tenderness. Undeniable, unmistakable tenderness as the monster gazed at her as if she were the moon and stars.

One hand still trapping him, the beast forward and used the other to cup her face. His hand caressed her cheek, his finger tracing her lips. She leaned into his touch, covering her hand with his. Their gazes so loving, eyes so heated and focused on each other that he was sure if he wasn't there, they would have closed the small distance between them.

"My dear-Aria-" Dumbledore had to gain the upper hand. He needed to make her see reason. She needed to see how absurd this was.

Only she didn't care to listen. "That love was beyond anything either one could hope for. Dream of. Like a fairytale come to life."

The creature's smile was so loving, so humanlike that it was jarring.

"And from that love, they created things. To their enemies, something incredibly lethal. To and for each other, something beautiful. Profoundly," She kneeled down and pulled something out of the basket, swaddled in red. "unimaginably beautiful."

He feared it was another severed head or body part. He was almost sure of it. Until a tiny first broke free from the reddened wrap, causing a layer of it to fall.

A baby. A baby who shared her mother's likeness from her black curls to her tan skin. A yawn fluttered from her tiny lips. Gray, demonic eyes, the sole trait inherited from the beast, flickered over to him before they closed and she fell back asleep.

A baby. A child. One sired by the  _devil's beast_.

"Aria…" He couldn't believe what was happening. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You-you-you reckless, naïve child!  _What have you done?!_  "

Two hands came down on him. One clutching his throat, crushing his windpipe. The other pressing against his mouth, caging in his screams.

" _Sssh_ ," the creature whispered in his ear, causing the hairs on his neck to stand straight. "The baby is sleeping."

If he were a lesser man, Dumbledore would have spit right into that smug face. He freed himself from his grasp and snarled, "You vile, unholy wretched thing-"

His head nearly flew off his neck by the great, sheer force that whipped across his face.

"By all means, keep talking," it insisted, the look on his face bloodthirsty. "It just gives me all the more reason to shatter," He grasped onto his throat and squeezed slow. Brutally, painfully slow like fruit, fragmenting bones, bleeding out the organ. "every bone in in your body."

"Draco."

His eyes slid over to her, then returned to him. He stood down, taking a step back.

Baffled, he looked over at her. Her attention was solely focused on the thing she cradled in her arms, rocking it back and forth as she played with the dark curls.

"Aria," He had to reach her. He owed it to the child he chose to care for. He owed it to her mother who was a devoted follower until she was led astray. He owed it the white robes and cross he don. "Listen to me. Whatever lies he spun, whatever poison he fed, you must renounce them. Forsaken this beast and all will be forgiven. Rid yourself of this blasphemous abomination he forced onto you-"

Swift as a whip, a knife plunged into his hand, pinning it to his desk. The monster sealed his mouth, holding in his screams.

"Insult my daughter again," she said calmly without turning away from the thing in her arms. "And the next one may go right between your eyes."

"But-"

Another knife pinned to the other hand, twisted it in slowly like a nail. This time, his jaw was squeezed to muffle his pained cries.

"Third time won't come with a warning."

He grunted, struggling and failing to break free. The more he struggle, the tighter the grip. "He ruined you-"

"Wrong. He saved me. Revived me."

This had to be a nightmare. A horrible, horrible nightmare he needed to free himself from.

"The beast, as you so poetically called him, is no more than a simple being indulging in what he pleases and protecting what is his. Along with destroying anything that gets in his way or certain people that deserve it."

"No one deserves such a fate-"

"That's where you're wrong again, sir. I can think of a handful of people who do. Each who played a part in the young woman's suffering. Like the butcher who you so fondly spoke of that took pleasure in beating her senselessly for laughs. I figured it was only fitting that the same tools used to hurt her, including his disgusting tongue, should be taken off."

More so torn off.

"His son's best friend. My rapist who came into my room and raped me three years straight. I made sure every waking moment of his remaining life was just as horrific as all the pain he put me through."

There was nothing left of the boy except chewed, ripped remains and his fractured skull.

"The son himself, my dear cousin, who was the cause of most of my beatings. Who let his friend rape me while he stood outside the door. Who gladly threw me to the wolves without looking back. Only he forgot one thing," She leaned forward and smiled, baring her teeth. "He should checked to see if I'd make such an easy prey."

Dumbledore tried escaping but he was pulled back.

"I took immense pleasure showing him otherwise."

_Dear God…_

"I debated what I should do about my aunt. After all she turned a blind eye to the abuse. She played a great role in my near-death starvation and neglect. She…" Fury rolled into those green eyes like a storm. "She knew about the rape. Or at least suspected it. And did nothing. Said nothing. Except willing-quite happily in fact-to give me away to a stranger. I suppose in her mind, I was already a plaything to one psychopath. Might as well be one to another and gain profit from it."

But that-he didn't…Petunia Dursely was a woman who made sure she was seated front and center every Sunday service. She always gifted him a wide, bright smile. It wasn't possible…

"However with a failing business losing money everyday, being forced to sell most of her 'beloved' possessions to pay off debts, having a lunatic for a husband and a corpse for a son that seemed punishable enough. Even so," The fury that burned in her eyes cooled down into a smile. A dark, twisted smile that chilled his bones. "I couldn't resist stopping by and giving my dear aunt makeover. A little," She caught his eye and his veins turned to ice by the darkness, the cold amusement swirling in her gaze. "touch-up."

Her companion let out a malicious chuckle that explained just how  _hands-on_  the makeover had gone. And that he might have played part in it.

The baby stirred again, letting out a soft cry, squirming in its' mother's arms. With a little humming, it was soothed once again, and settled back into the basket gently.

"Sadly," she continued on. "I couldn't let Tom Riddle get away so easily. Not after all the despicable things he had done to other women before me. Not after the days he spent before my 'death' corning me every chance he had to whisper all the sick things he would do with me. To me. It shockingly wasn't that hard to sneak into his house. Just like it wasn't hard sneaking into his room and cutting him into pieces."

His body lit in mortification as he felt hot piss spreading across his lap, down his legs.

"As for the rest of the family?" She dismissed it with a simple shrug. "Collateral damage."

"Why-so-" It took multiple attempts for the priest to get the words across. "Why are you here then? It sounds like you have your happy ending."

Her smiling lips soured into a disappointed pout, as if he was overlooking a vital piece laid out in front of him. "You weren't paying attention. The young woman had a list of all those who were behind her suffering. Her monstrous relatives, her former rapist and future one, and you." The pout thinned into a tight line. "The high-holy, self-righteous priest."

"My dear-"

She pulled out the left dagger nailing his hand and struck him across the face with the halt.

It took forever for the vivid red stars to clear from his vision. Even longer for the ringing to stop.

"Who knew right from the beginning how vile Petunia Dursley and her family were. Knew from day one about the abuse that was being done to the girl. Knew why and what she was running away from. Yet still had the nerve to throw her back to those monsters because he believed reluctant _hospitality_ was something she should be grateful _._ Because he thought himself a God."

"Not true!" Dumbledore protested. "I was serving His will. I was helping you-"

His face met the wooden surface of his desk over and over again. Until his nose was ripe-swollen and broken. Until teeth were cracked, its fragments falling like snow. Until red dripped from the wounds, painting the desk in thick streaks. Only then did the beast pulled him back up, grip tight around his neck, and flung him against the chair.

"You were torturing me, along with them. In fact, Priest Dumbledore, I'd say you were the worst of them all."

His head was swimming in pain. He tried to speak, but there was too much tooth shards, too much blood blocking the words.

"You were no better than Draco's father," she declared. "So lost in your arrogance, so enthralled by your power, innocent children suffered and were remade into monsters."

He was only trying to help. He wanted her to stay good and obedient.

She rose from her chair and walked closer to his desk. The look in her eyes so calm, so chilling, fear gripped him by the heart and squeezed tight.

"I came here for several reasons. To tell the story, the true story of the Big Bad Wolf. To deliver Tom Riddle's head to show you the product of your arrogance. Most of all," She leaned in closer. "So my face will be the last thing you see before you die."

She stuffed a rose into his mouth, fully-bloomed and thorn-pricked.

At the exact moment she plunged a dagger deeply into his gut.

~...~

The creature of the night, the thing of nightmares, the former prince turned beast gazed down into the cot containing one of the few precious thing in his life.

From the second he felt her heartbeat fluttering inside her mother's womb, he loved her almost instantly. From the second she came into the world, she became his world. Six months in and the feeling only deepened. She was the spinning image of her mother from her dark curls, her golden skin, and the solemn aura that wrapped her like a cloak. One slight difference between the two was the cool gray eyes she inherited from him, carrying a sort of energy that spoke to him.

_My dear Lyanna_ , he thought fondly with a smile, running a hand through her hair.

She proved once again what a unique baby she was, hardly stirring during their business with the priest. Heavily under her dreams or, perhaps like his mate, enthralled with keen instincts that called for silence.

Time would tell if she would be like him. He had no doubt, though, she'd grow up to be a fierce huntress like her mother. Until then, however, even long after then…

"I will protect you both." he vowed. He sealed the promise with a kiss bestowed on her forehead.

A shiver crawled up his skin as he felt a hand sliding up the back of his neck, soft lips following the path. He turned over to face the other center of his life. It never ceased to amaze him the look of love and trust that greeted every time he looked into those green eyes.

She smiled at him, and passed down the smile onto their daughter. She stroked her cheek and traced lips, which formed into a smile at the touch.

"Mama's girl." he muttered.

"Oh hush."

Lyanna leaned more into her hand.

"Is it strange that even after all this time, it doesn't seem real to me?" she questioned. "Her, us. It feels like a dream."

He wrapped his arms her and nuzzled against her back, kissing the nape of her neck. "Believe me, I know."

And he was thankful each day that it was a reality.

She turned over to him, her hands pressed against his chest, wickedness touching her smile as she looked at him. "Dear lover," she said. "What big ears you have." She playfully tugged at one of them.

He smirked in return. "The better to hear you with, my dear."

"Dear lover, what big eyes you have." Her hand moved from ear to face, slowly running her nail besides his left eye, down his cheek.

Heat charged the air between them as he edged them over to their bed. "The better to see you with, my dear."

She bit her lip as his nails raked through her dress, cutting through it like paper. Her nipples hardened from the cool air brushing against her skin, his warmth nuzzled against her. A gasp torn from her throat as he toyed with her nipple. His hand slide slower, teasing her center with a deliberate brush.

"Dear Lover," Little Red purred. "What big teeth you have."

He laid her across the bed like a virginal sacrifice. He cut through the remnants of her nightgown until she was bare before him. She gazed up at him, biting down on her lip, one hand playing her breast, the other slipping between her legs.

The perfect, beautiful entrée.

Eyes gleaming silver, teeth bare, nails sharp, the Big Bad Wolf said, "The better to eat you with, my dear."

He leaped onto the bed to collect his prize.


End file.
